Relocated
by Theodore Hawkwood
Summary: What if Syndrome survived the movie’s end and returned after aligning himself with a dark power to take over Metroville? The surviving Supers must be relocated elsewhere.
1. New Neighbors

New Neighbors

Disclaimer: I do not own the Incredibles, Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego, or Kingdom Hearts. However the characters of Marian MacClannough and Ernest "Bluey" Truscott are my creation.

Summary: What if Syndrome survived the movie's end and returned after aligning himself with a dark power to take over Metroville? The surviving Supers must be relocated.

* * *

Edinburgh: Marian MacClannough, a young woman about twenty-seven years old, threw a 'What have you done now?' look at the swarthy, dark haired Australian man standing to one side of the older gentleman in a gray suit.

"Is that any way to great an old friend, Marian?" Ernest Truscott, known as Bluey to his friends, replied.

"The last time you were in my jurisdiction, trouble brewed up." Marian replied.

"It was only a minor squabble…" Truscott replied.

"Minor squabble?" Marian replied, incredulously, "Minor squabble? You call a fight in a pub between a bunch of local boys and several visiting Australian lads a minor squabble?"

"To be fair, the wankers attacked us first!" Truscott protested.

"Ernie," Marian replied, grinning at Truscott's irritation, "You were wearing an Australian Wallabies jersey, and Scotland lost to them. What were you expecting?"

"First off its Ernest or Bluey. I've not gone by Ernie since I was an infant…" Truscott replied.

"Ahem." Rick Dicker began, "I presume you two know each other."

"Yes." Both of them replied.

"If you two are quite finished." Dicker replied, in a midly irritated tone, "Perhaps we can get back to business."

"Of course." Marian replied, glaring at Truscott again. Bluey put up his hands in a defensive gesture with a 'What are you blaming me for' expression.

"Asshole." Truscott growled, indicating Dicker.

"I agree." Marian whispered back.

Dicker gestured them towards the building's conference room, and the two officers walked into the room. As Marian entered the room she saw a massive blond haired man with a receding hairline and the shoulders of a bull. Beside him was a slender woman with short brown hair, cradling an infant not even a year old. On the man's left side was a girl, maybe thirteen years old with long black hair and blue eyes, and a boy of nine years, a smaller version of who Marian guessed was his father.

"Robert Parr?" Marian began. From her files she knew the woman was Helen Parr, aka Elastigirl; the girl was named Violet, the elder boy was Dash and the younger was Jack Jack.

The blond man nodded, sadness and exhaustion crossing his features. Bluey Truscott had seen that look before. He'd seen it in the eyes of refugees from Kosovo to the Sudan. It was that pain that only those exiled from their homelands can know.

"Marian MacClannough, ACME Detective Agency." Marian began, and then indicated Truscott, "This is Bluey Truscott, ACME Special Operations Group. I'll be the officer covering your case."

Bob Parr instinctively knew where this was headed. Fifteen years ago, when the Superhero Relocation Act had been instituted, a similar speech had been made by Rick Dicker. Now his old friend was turning him over to another one.

The twenty-something seemed competent enough, probably a bit too overeager, as most young government workers are. She was slender bodied, a bit shorter than Dicker or the tanned fellow, with a pale Scot's complexion, blue eyes, with her brown hair worn just past her shoulders, with a simple tail in the back. The fellow she had introduced as Bluey was an unassuming fellow, with a black crew cut and a pronounced suntan, obviously some paramilitary type.

"We know that Syndrome has since taken over your world." Marian began, "And that he has aligned himself with a power known as the Heartless. Between the Heartless and his own forces, he has gained control of your world, Metroville."

"That is pretty obvious." Bob replied, irate. Helen nudged her husband.

"What?" Bob whisperred.

"She's trying to do her job." Helen hissed back.

Marian felt indignant. That stubborn prick…

"Calm down." Truscott whisperred in her ear.

"You'll be staying here in Edinburgh for a short time while my agency looks for a place to relocate you and your family. Mr. Truscott will handle security arrangements." Marian continued.

"I really don't think we need protection or security." Bob began.

"That may be, Mr. Parr." Truscott stepped in, frowning at the rude treatment Marian was receiving, "But you haven't quite the experience of fighting the Heartless that we have. We'll be acting more in an advisory capacity."

Marian shot him an expression, a mixed one of gratitude and annoyance. Gratitude that the Australian was standing up for her, and annoyance that she had faltered at the big man's chagrin.

"And what experience do you have?" Helen intervened.

"I served as an assistant team leader running reconaissance operations downrange with the Special Operations Group for nearly a year and a half in the Sudan. Before that I served for three years in the Australian Special Air Service Regiment, after having spent two years in the Royal Australian Navy." Truscott replied.

"Fair enough." Helen replied, "And where will we be staying?"

"We've booked lodgings for you at the Ben Doran hotel, at our expense." Marian replied, "Operators of SOG will keep an eye on your lodgings for security reasons. I'll be your point of contact for your stay here. My contact information is in the folder on the table."

"What about our stuff?" Violet asked.

"We've already moved it into your hotel room, your keys are in the packet on the table." Marian replied.

"Right." Truscott added, "We've got armed plain clothes police standing guard at the approaches to your hotel room."

"Wouldn't secrecy be our primary method of security?" Bob said, pointedly.

Marian's temper flared, "Exactly, that is why I've told Mr. Truscott to make sure security arrangements are on the lower key variety."

Truscott shot Bob a very irate look that said 'Watch it mister' Bob glared back at the Australian, who responded with an equal glare. Clearly he was a bit protective of Marian, Helen perceived. And judging from the Scottish woman's brief glare at the Australian, she wasn't entirely happy with that behavior.

_What the hell? I can take care of myself, Bluey Truscott. _Marian thought angrily, before composing herself.

_What is it with me and being able to piss her off and make her smile on the same occasion? _Truscott thought. _The sooner I'm out of Scotland and off somewhere else the happier I'll be. _

"Are there any questions?" Marian asked.

"No." Bob replied.

"There's a car waiting downstairs with Agent Dicker to take you to the hotel." Marian replied. As soon as the Parr family was out of earshot, Marian turned towards Truscott and said, "You've got some nerve, Ernie."

"I've not gone by Ernie since I was in my nappies." Truscott replied.

"Your little tiff with Mr. Parr made you sound like you're a bloody infant." Marian replied.

"For fuck's sake, he was being a bloody prick. I thought you might appreciate a gentleman's courtesy." Truscott replied.

"Bluey, I don't need a knight in shining armor riding off to my rescue just because Mr. Parr was being a bit hard headed." Marian replied.

"Last time I checked we didn't have a tradition of knights in Australia." Truscott replied.

Marian couldn't help but give him a wry smile about the knight remark, "Last time I checked, Australia was started as a penal colony."

"Are your sure you're entirely comfortable working with a convict?" Truscott joked.

"Step out of line and you'll wind up pepper sprayed in a hurry." Marian smiled.

"It's good to see you again, despite all this." Truscott replied. _Damn you, what is it about you?_

"Likewise." Marian replied. _It really has been too long. _

"Would you like to have lunch sometime, while I'm up here in Scotland for a bit?" Truscott replied, then added, "On me."

"I'd like that." Marian smiled, "Provided you don't start any brawls."

"What?" Truscott protested as Marian walked out of the room, "For the last time, Marian, that brawl wasn't my fault. It was those pissants from Glasgow who were bad sports!"

As he found his eyes following the sway of her hips, Bluey Truscott realized one thing. _This is going to be one interesting assignment._

* * *

"Bob," Helen chastised, "You could have been a little less crusty with that case officer."

"Well she did state facts we already knew." Bob replied, "Like we didn't know anything."

"I know you're frustrated with this whole thing. And that you're tired from all those hours of travel, of waiting in airports and flying on military and civilian planes." Helen replied, "And that Jack Jack running a temperature kept us both awake. But you should try and be a little more tactful to these people they're trying to help."

"If they were 'trying to help', where the hell were they when Syndrome took over? Where the hell were they when he showed up with a powerful new army, advanced weapons, and a foe we've never heard of?" Bob demanded.

"Bob, these people have been fighting the Heartless for years." Helen replied, "Maybe they can be of some help."

"If the help didn't act like someone's Scottish babysitter…" Bob began.

"Bob." Helen admonished him, "I mean it. Try and be a bit more courteous next time."

There was a knock on the door, and Bob peered through the keyhole, recognizing Bluey Truscott. Bob answered the door.

Truscott handed him a map, "I just thought I'd review the escort detail plans I've drawn up."

"Come on in." Bob replied, inwardly groaning and wanting little more than to sleep.

"I can see that the cuisine of Scotland agrees with you, mate." Truscott remarked, throwing a not so veiled insult at Bob.

_Clearly he's still pissed. _Bob thought. He had to admire the Australian's devotion in defending the honor of the woman he loved. _But he's still an ass…_

"And I can see," Bob replied, with an equally barbed tone, "That other aspects of Scotland agree with you."

"You might do well to show a bit more tact to we who risk our necks to rescue you." Truscott remarked, "This is off the records, but Marian was the case officer that organized the effort, at considerable risk, to fly you and your family safely out of Metroville."

"_Boys_," Helen replied, emphasizing the term, "Can you two spend more than five minutes in the same room without insulting each other?"

"I really wasn't being insulting." Truscott replied, with sarcastic formality, "I merely reminded your husband of the importance of tact."

"For a human of ordinary strength, you've got lot of nerve." Bob remarked.

"Yes, I've got a lot of nerve, because I don't take kindly to bullies." Truscott replied sharply.

"Excuse me?" Bob said, offended.

"I'm referring to the briefing, mate." Truscott replied, "Specifically where you told her about stating the obvious."

"Sometimes the truth hurts." Bob remarked.

"Bob." Helen admonished, "Excuse me, Mr. Truscott…"

"Please, call me 'Bluey' or Ernest." Truscott replied.

"Ernest," Helen replied, "Could you excuse us for a moment? We'll look over those security arrangements."

As soon as the door had closed, Helen replied, "I can't believe you were trading insults with that man."

"Hey, he's the one who decided to pick a fight." Bob replied, "I only obliged him."

"That was incredibly immature of him as well." Helen replied, "But you might want to apologize to Marian. She did save our lives…"

"How?" Bob replied.

"Remember that small plane that flew us out of Metroville to the coast. Remember that fishing boat that brought us into international waters where we met that seaplane that flew us to Gibraltar. Remember how Jack Jack got kidnapped by Syndrome's agents in Spain. Who do you think organized all those rendezvous? The rescue mission that ACME's SOG launched to save Jack Jack when using our powers would have resulted in being compromised?" Helen replied.

"If she was so offended, why didn't she come in here and say so?" Bob replied, "Why send Aussie over here to pick a fight?"

"Bob, you're not exactly the most flexible person, or the most humble person, in this room." Helen remarked, "Maybe she thought it would have been useless to ask for an apology. And did you ever consider Truscott was acting alone. Marian doesn't seem like the sort of woman who needs a man to fight her battles."

Bob sighed, "Maybe you're right, honey. I just feel so frustrated. We're super heroes, people with extraordinary powers, and Syndrome still managed to get the better of us…"

"And you don't like having to ask for help." Helen replied, "I know what you feel."

"I just felt so helpless when Syndrome's agents stole Jack Jack from right under our noses when we were staying in Spain." Bob replied, "And…"

"And you blame Marian for Jack Jack's kidnapping." Helen replied, as the baby began to fuss in the baby carrier beside their bed. Helen picked him up and rocked her son back and forth.

"I do not." Bob replied.

"Maybe just a little." Helen pressed, "We should have been safe in Spain, but Syndrome's agents still managed to grab Jack Jack. She did reassure us that we were safe…"

"Those agents nearly got away with our son." Bob replied.

"But they didn't, Bob, that's my point." Helen replied.

"Look," Bob replied, "I remember when I thought that Syndrome had killed you, when he shot you down over Nomanisan. I don't ever want to feel that again…"

"Do you think I want that feeling?" Helen replied.

"I don't want to lose any of you. I'm not strong enough for that." Bob replied, as Violet and Dash were watching the television.

"Why was Dad arguing with that Australian guy again?" Dash asked.

"It was because he was kind of a grouch to that lady that was briefing us." Violet replied, "It was really sweet and kind of romantic."

"It was stupid, that's what it was." Dash replied.

Violet rolled her eyes, Dash could be so immature at times. Clearly the Australian guy, Bluey, had some kind of feelings for Marian and couldn't stand to see Bob acting so crusty and stubborn with her. Dash wouldn't understand.

"Yeah, trying to convince Dad about something that he's set on is kinda stupid." Violet replied.

"Do you think Lucius made it?" Dash asked.

"He was relocated away from Metroville. So I think so." Violet replied.

"But some of Syndrome's agents managed to capture Jack Jack in Spain." Dash countered.

"I'm sure that Lucius and Honey got out just fine." Violet replied.

"Even Dad doesn't know that." Dash replied.

"Maybe Marian knows." Violet replied, "We can ask her next time we see her."

"I'm bored." Dash complained, and indicating the television, "I thought this was supposed to be a comedy."

"It is." Violet said as she thumbed through the TV guide, "Shaun of the Dead, a A Romantic Comedy with Zombies…"

"It isn't funny." Dash said.

"That's because the British have a very dry sense of humor." Violet replied, playfully bonking her brother on the head with the TV guide.

"I'm bored." Dash replied, again, and then ran out into the hallway.

Violet heard a loud ouch and a curse coming from the hallway. Dash rushed inside the room.

"OW! Where did that bloody thumb tack come from!" the plainclothes policeman who was standing guard in the hall shouted.

"The more things change." Violet mused, "The more they stay the same."

"You little brat!" the policeman shouted, "I ought to bloody slap you."

"Leave my son alone!" Bob shouted. CRASH! The policeman went flying into the ceiling.

Truscott came running upstairs from the lobby. "What's going on here?"

"This wanker put a thumb tack in me chair." Officer Grover shouted.

"Which wanker?" Truscott asked.

"The little one, sir." Grover replied.

"Complete nonsense!" Bob replied.

"There was no tack on my chair when I left to use the **bog**." Officer Grover protested, as he adjusted the ice pack on his head, "And when I returned I saw a yellow blur and sat on a tack."

"That's complete nonsense." Bob replied.

"Nice parenting." Truscott remarked. At Bob's glare, the Australian grinned and said, "Just an observation, mate…"

* * *

Helen walked downstairs, it was tea time, according to the brochure and she was in the mood for a nice cup of tea. She sat down at one of the couches, setting her hot cup on the coffee table, and adjusting Jack Jack's position in her arms. The baby stirred and went back to sleep.

She noticed Marian reading over a brief of some kind, and said, "Hi. I'm Helen Parr, Bob is my husband. I just wanted to say sorry that Bob was a bit testy…"

"No harm was done." Marian replied, as she put the documents back into the folder on her lap.

"Still, I wanted to apologize for him." Helen replied, "Bob can be a bit proud and stubborn sometimes."

"So can Bluey." Marian replied.

"That's something they both have in common then." Helen replied, "Neither of them apologizes for things very easily."

"I assure you their clashing won't be a problem." Marian replied.

"I can tell that Bluey's a professional, though a bit hardheaded…" Helen replied.

"That's not the half of it." Marian replied.

"Bob's the same way. When he's convinced he's right it takes an act of God or Congress to convince him of anything." Helen comiserated, "Its one of those times where I both grit my teeth and remember I love him as well as remind him not to be so pig headed."

Marian smiled, despite herself, "I often have to remind Bluey to quit being so bullheaded about things, that some of us still work at our resident field houses after the SOG blokes are done with their business."

"How does ACME work? I mean I've looked at your briefing packet, but I've got a few questions." Helen replied.

"Well," Marian replied, "We're best known for the Carmen Sandiego capers of the early '90s, but that's merely our front, the relatively low risk warrants. We do everything ranging from advising police forces, solving international crimes, and intelligence work. Our most recent efforts have been against the Heartless."

"So what exactly is it that you do?" Helen asked.

"I'm a case officer." Marian said, "Which means a good percentage of my work is classified. But what I can tell you is I'm no James Bond."

Helen replied, "If you were, I'd worry that 007 has suddenly decided to cavort around in drag."

Marian couldn't help but smile as she continued, "I recruit people as agents, people who give me information or carry out operations that we don't want linked back to our organization. I arrange contacts, and as Johnny Depp once said 'I throw shapes, and they catch them…'"

"And Bluey?" Helen asked.

"He works for SOG, or the Special Operations Group, works closely with us. They're our paramilitary force, used to rescue case officers in trouble, carry out really sensitive missions behind enemy lines, and create resistance movements. They basically have the expertise to topple almost any government in months." Marian replied, "And they can teach others to do that. I can't name operations or places they've operated, but you get the idea of what they can do."

"I'm not about to cause you to lose your job for breaking agency secrets." Helen replied.

"Thank you." Marian replied, thankful that Helen Parr was clearly being a peacemaker for this entire affair.

Helen continued to sip at her tea, enjoying a scone as well. As soon as she was done she said, "I've got to put this little guy to bed." Helen said, indicating Jack Jack who yawned sleepily.

"He's a beautiful little boy." Marian smiled.

"Thank you." Helen replied, "And thank you for saving him."

"I was just lucky that we had a SOG team transiting through Spain when they took him." Marian replied.

"You're being too modest." Helen replied, "I know, from working with intelligence officers as a Super, that paramilitaries are in high demand all over the place. How you convinced them to help save Jack Jack on short notice shows you're damn good at your job."

Marian smiled and Helen said to Jack Jack, "Say good night to the nice lady sweetheart…"

"Ga na…" Jack Jack gurgled.

Helen walked upstairs with the baby in her arms, and as Marian walked out of the lobby she noticed Bluey walking back inside, with a plastic bag from the local video rental place and a plastic case with a DVD player/VCR combination inside.

Marian looked through the bag, and noticing the assortment of movies included several family movies, a best moments of American football 1990-2001 tape, some children's films, and a romance drama or two. "That's nice of you."

"Call it a peace offering." Bluey replied, "You won't believe the number of stares I got in the video shop."

"And here was thinking that you'd decided on regressing to your childhood." Marian replied, and indicating the case, "Where did you get that player?"

"Let's say I owe Jan Shimoda a favor now." Bluey replied.

"Either way," Marian said, "That is nice of you."

"Though I don't exactly like Mr. Incredible, I figured I may as well bury the hatchet." Bluey replied.

Marian touched Bluey's forehead, and the underside of his chin, "I'm checking to see that you're not running a fever."

"I assure you I'm not." Truscott replied, "And a few words from Papa Louie kind of convinced me that it would be most prudent that I give this stuff to the family."

"How is Mr. Clean?" Marian replied, referring to another nickname the case officers gave the battle hardened, bald ex-paratrooper from the American 82nd Airborne Division.

"He's doing alright." Truscott replied.

"How did he manage to twist your arm into the peace offering idea?" Marian replied.

"He didn't. He just said it might be a good idea that I make such an offering." Bluey replied.

"Who would have thought that someone who looks like the Mr. Clean man could be so intimidating…" Marian replied.

"Have you ever seen him interrogate a prisoner before?" Bluey replied, "He turns off that easy smile, and 'everyone's favorite bald, slightly pot bellied uncle' switch. He can play the bad cop better than anyone I've ever met."

"Really, I can't imagine that." Marian replied.

"I'd best be getting this up to them." Bluey replied, "It's nice to be seeing you again."

"Likewise." Marian replied, "It's been a long time."

"One year, six months, two weeks and three and a half days to be exact." Bluey replied.

"The distance between worlds can't keep true friends apart." Marian replied.

"I missed you." Bluey replied. _Damn, I've said too much. _

"I'd best be going." Bluey replied.

_Who knew three words could sum up that much feeling. _Marian thought, as Truscott walked up the staircase.

* * *

**TBC**

**Bog – **British slang for bathroom.


	2. Lunch and World Searches

Lunch and World Searches

Disclaimer: Same as before.

* * *

"So you're back in town, mate?" Bruce Underwood, a lanky bespectacled six footer of an Australian in his late twenties asked.

"No, this is a bloody robot with an Australian accent." Truscott smiled.

"Well, at least I'm not the only token Aussie in this bunch of Celts." Bruce replied.

"I'm not a Celt…" Rebecca Lachland-Underwood, a slim young woman, about five and a half feet tall protested.

"But your wife's the token Kiwi." Bluey remarked.

James 'Thud' MacKinley, the prop for his rugby club whisperred something in Gaelic. The massive ACME cryptologist smiled and went back to his ruben sandwich.

"What did he say?" Rebecca asked.

Marian smiled, "It translates into 'Bloody ANZACS'."

"If it weren't for us 'bloody ANZACs' you chaps would have been up shit creek without a paddle during World War II." Truscott replied, attacking his basket of fish and chips.

"I was referring to you three 'bloody ANZACS'." Thud replied.

"I'll have you know, wanker, I did volunteer myself as a scrumhalf last time I was over here when Dan got bit by the flu." Bluey replied.

"And I am your office mate…" Bruce replied.

"All you do is swear at the printer whenever it doesn't work." Thud joked.

"Which is every bloody day!" Bruce replied.

"I married a teenager." Rebecca replied, holding Bruce's hand.

"So what have you been up to, Bluey?" Marian asked.

"My work of late goes into the 'classfied' section, I'm afraid." Truscott replied.

"I do wish you paramilitary blokes would stop buggering the lab." Rebecca commented, "Or returning pieces of equipment broken…"

"Combat is inherently rough." Truscott replied.

"So are Aussies on their equipment." Rebecca replied.

"You weren't complaining about equipment last night, dear." Bruce replied.

Rebecca playfully swatter her husband's face and the others at the table chuckled. "I'm serious, you weren't…" Bruce replied.

"I was talking about one other Australian and the satellite phone." Rebecca replied.

"For the last time, it wasn't working right." Truscott protested.

"It works when you love it." Rebecca replied.

"I love it when it bloody works." Truscott replied.

"Violence and technology. Not good bed fellows." Rebecca replied.

"Engineers and soldiers, not always the best of mates." Truscott countered.

"2003 Rugby World Cup…" Rebecca remarked.

"Shut up…" Truscott groaned.

"Oh you mean Australia 17 – England 20?" Marian remakred, ever so innocently.

"Bollocks." Truscott groaned, "Let's not forget Australia 33 – Scotland 16."

"Personally I'm more partial to **football.**" Marian replied, "Or playing raquetball."

"You know what they say about football." Bluey replied, "Football is a gentleman's game played by ruffians and rugby is a ruffian's game played by gentlemen."

"You mean running in and beating the daylights out of each other is a gentleman's pursuit?" Marian replied.

"That's a bit of a stretch, that means you're calling Thud here, a gentleman." Bruce replied.

"For a tall, skinny lad you're awful cocky." Thud replied.

"Actually racketball's more my game." Bruce replied.

"Until you played Marian." Thud replied.

"Don't remind me…" Bruce groaned.

"I do believe we've another match this afternoon." Marian smiled.

"I believe you'll owe us a round tonight." Bluey replied.

"Some loyalty to a fellow Aussie." Bruce groaned.

"I'm more of a rugby fan anyway." Bluey replied, "An Australian fan."

"Yet you're wearing a Scotland jersey." Rebecca pointed.

"Well, this is my lucky practice jersey." Bluey replied.

"It's still a Scotland jersey." Thud joined in.

"What is this? Gang up on the Aussie day?" Truscott replied, "And besides it's still my good luck piece. I always have the best practices whenever I wear this jersey."

"That was until Thud tackled you yesterday." Marian remarked.

"But we got a ruck formed, got the ball back and scored a kick." Bluey replied, "So in analysis, thanks for the jersey. It was a wonderful Christmas gift."

Marian smiled, "You're welcome. I just wondered what the boys in Australia thought about that."

"Let's just say I got a pile formed on me that day of practice." Bluey replied.

"So it's not a lucky jersey." Rebecca remarked.

"I didn't break any bones, so it is a lucky jersey." Bluey replied.

"I still maintain that rugby is a ruffian's game played by ruffians." Marian replied, smiling.

"Bollocks." Thud and Bluey responded.

"How long are you in town, Bluey?" Rebecca asked.

"Maybe three weeks or so. I'll be sure to deposit a share of the rent for this month." Truscott replied, referring to his living arrangement whenever he was in Scotland, the fact that he would use the spare bedroom in Rebecca and Bruce's flat in exchange for paying part of the rent.

"And next time we invent something for you to use, do be careful with it." Rebecca replied. The server came by, and they paid the check and left a portion of the tip.

"I've got to get back to work." Marian replied, "Our latest project is keeping me up trying to find a world."

"You can always send them to Antarctica…To the research station I mean." Bluey replied.

"You certainly didn't learn much diplomacy in your travels." Marian replied.

"I could've said the Arctic circle." Bluey replied.

"I know you and Mr. Parr don't get along, but will you at least _try _not to bite each others heads off for five minutes." Marian replied, picking up her purse and putting the strap across her right shoulder down to her left hip.

"Of course." Truscott replied. The five friends headed outside back to the Edinburgh Field Office.

* * *

"OK," Marian began, as she stood in a room that contained several computers as well as a huge projector screen. Off to one side Bruce was pecking away at a keyboard, where Bluey was sipping at a mug of tea, "Step one of relocation is finding you a world where you might be comfortable."

Bob, Helen, Violet and Dash were all in the room. Jack Jack lay asleep in Helen's arms. "So where exactly do you plan on sending us?" Bob asked.

"There's always London." Bluey suggested.

"I'm not quite sure I could adjust to driving on the wrong side of the road." Bob said.

"Well, what do you think of New York?" Marian replied. Bruce tapped at the keyboard and a projection of New York City appeared on the screen.

"Too crowded." Helen replied.

"Crime rate's too high." Bob replied.

"That would be favorable, wouldn't it?" Truscott asked, "Having criminals to fight."

"Not really." Bob replied, "We want to lie low while we consider how we're going to take on Syndrome…"

"This is a bigger problem than you can handle, Mr. Parr." Truscott challenged, "If your combined Supers couldn't stop Syndrome from taking over Metroville, what makes you think that you can manage that by yourselves."

"We've beaten Syndrome before." Bob replied.

"And we may well be asking for your help again." Marian replied, "But for now we need to relocate you somewhere safe until then."

"And when will that be?" Bob challenged.

"I don't know when that is yet. It isn't my decision to make." Marian replied.

"Of course it isn't." Bob remarked dismissively.

"Watch it…" Bluey replied.

"Well, if you're looking for small towns, I know of somewhere in Kansas. Smallville I think…" Marian began.

"Too small." Helen replied.

"One thing goes wrong and we'd have to be relocated again." Bob replied.

"You're looking for a large city with a small town feel then?" Marian asked.

"Boston perhaps." Truscott suggested.

"I'm not a fan of the cold." Helen replied.

"Hmm…" Marian thought.

"There's always San Francisco." Truscott replied.

Marian restrained every impulse to throw her arms around the Australian, "Bluey, you're a genius!"

"I was joking." Truscott replied.

"Well I don't see why not. San Francisco is perfect." Marian replied.

"But which one?" Truscott asked.

"Hmm, this world's San Francisco." Marian said, pointing at another map of a different reality, "It's still a very charming city."

"And its close to HQ. That's a particular constant I'm aware of." Bluey replied, "I see where you're going with this…"

"Hmm, San Francisco sounds nice." Bob replied.

"It's a nice enough city." Helen replied, "We'll take it."

"I'll make the arrangements." Marian replied, "Expect a preliminary briefing in two days. Meanwhile, enjoy Auld Reekie, she's a lovely city."

The Parrs filed out of the room. "Thanks Bluey." Marian smiled warmly.

_God, what is it about that smile. I could have the worse day imaginable, but her smiling at me can make it all go away. _Bluey thought. _And I'm noticing this just now? I've known her for years._

"I was kidding." Bluey replied.

Marian threw her arms around him, on impulse. Bluey returned the hug and they parted quickly, considering they were both still at work. _Why does he keep looking at me like that? I've known him since we were children and his father used to travel here in the summers with his family._

_Maybe it's the start of something new. _Marian thought. _Easy, you just got out of a relationship and you don't want to use him as a rebound. Least of all he's been one of the closest friends I've had, I don't want to hurt him. _

_She still has that effect on me after three years? Not surprising, she grew into a real beauty…Worry about these things at somewhere other than work…_Bluey thought.

"I'm off for a sports afternoon." Bluey replied, "I believe we're playing rugby. Care to join?"

"Sorry, I've got a racketball game lined up with Bruce." Marian replied, "But your fondness for the game of rugby is something I can't entirely understand."

"I have my secrets." Bluey grinned.

"And why you like trying to outrun big, hairy chaps I'll never understand." Marian replied.

"It's just a lot of fun." Bluey replied.

"Whenever sports come around, you're always on the ovoid planet." Marian mused.

"I can't understand why you're fond of racketball either." Bluey replied, "All you do is run around in short shorts and swat a little ball…"

_Though the sight of you in those shorts is something I don't entirely mind. _Bluey thought.

"All you do," Marian smiled, recognizing the old familiar, and safe, joking tone they'd used through the years, "Is run around with a big ovoid ball trying to avoid being knocked over by big, hairy gorillas…"

"Is that any way to refer to refer to Thud." Bluey replied, "I'd best be going, good luck."

"Thank you." Marian replied.

"I was talking to Bruce." Bluey replied, "Playing against you means he's going to need all the help he can get…Including divine intervention."

"Bruce," Marian smiled, "I hope you're at your best…"

"Help me. Please God help me…" Bruce groaned.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bluey." Marian replied.

"Whatever happened to support your fellow ANZAC?" Bruce groaned.

"Good luck." Bluey replied, "Against her, you're going to need it."

* * *

"That's three games and three wins." Bruce gasped as he guzzled water from his water bottle, "I don't know how you do it."

"Practice, hard work, and the fact that I've been playing tennis and racket sports since I was eleven." Marian replied.

"That makes seven games this week I've lost to you." Bruce groaned, "I must be getting old."

"No you must be just a bit out of shape." Marian replied, as she stretched and went to practice another serve, "Up for another game?"

"Not really." Bruce replied, "I'd best be on my way home. Rebecca's going to be expecting me home for dinner."

"Wimp." Marian replied, "I'm probably going to practice a few serves. My forehand could use a little bit of work…"

"I could help you with that." Helen's voice sounded.

Marian turned to see Helen Parr in workout clothes walking by. "I've got an extra raquet in my bag." Marian replied, "You play?"

"Back when I was in college, and before Bob and I got married." Helen replied, "But between three pregnancies, being a housewife, a mom, and now a superhero once more, time on the court got scarce. So I'm a bit rusty."

"Still, I've read your file." Marian replied, "It'll be intersting to play against…"

"I'm not about to use my powers." Helen replied.

"Your serve." Marian replied, tossing Helen the ball as she walked onto the court.

Helen began with an overhand serve that bounced off the far wall. Marian easily countered it with a backhanded swing that sent the ball bouncing off the floor and into the wall. Helen chased the ball and used a quick forehanded swing to save it. The two opponents were batting the ball back and forth, Marian finding Helen to be truly formidable player. Her agility and speed were still amazing, even if she hadn't played very much of late. Marian grinned, she hadn't had a match this good in years. Bruce was able to hold his own, but she was used to his tricks by now, and trying to figure Helen out was a welcomed change.

"So what's the story with Bluey?" Helen asked, as the game's pace had come down a notch or two.

Marian was blindsided by this innocent inquiry and actually missed her attempt to parry. The ball passed her and Helen said, "Point one for me."

"Why are you so curious about that all of a sudden?" Marian asked, slightly irate that she'd let her opponent get inside her head with that inquiry.

"Just curious." Helen replied, "It seems like you two are pretty close."

"I've known Bluey since I was two years old." Marian replied, at Helen's quizzical expression she added, "It was because Bluey's father and my father used to be partners when they worked for ACME. Every summer Bluey's family would come here for reunions. We got to be friends since then."

"Were you ever something more?" Helen asked.

"I'd rather not say." Marian replied.

"I'm sorry." Helen replied, "Your serve."

Marian served the ball and the game continued until the score was three for one, in favor of Helen. Marian was a bit disappointed she'd been beaten, but vowed next opportunity she would try and even the score.

"Did I ever tell you I was a district champion for raquetball in college?" Helen asked.

"You forgot to mention that." Marian replied as they walked off the court for some water and a change of clothes.

* * *

"Hey Truscott, over here." Jan Shimoda, a Japanese-American man with a grown in shaved head and a mustache, said as Truscott walked into the pub.

"I suppose it's time to pay up the pints I owe, right." Bluey replied.

"It sure is." Papa Louie replied, with a big grin.

"So I presume the Scotland assignment is proving enjoyable." Shimoda replied.

Bluey wore a sheepish expression and didn't really respond. "I knew it." Jan Shimoda continued, "You still got it bad, pal."

"I suppose some beer to extinguish the flames is in order." Papa Louie replied.

"What flames?" Truscott protested.

"We all know that you have a thing for a certain case officer in the Edinburgh office…" Jan added.

"Bollocks." Truscott replied.

"Not what I always see." Jan added, "I see someone's interested in a certain local lass."

"Wanker." Bluey rolled his eyes, "She's a friend."

"How many friends cause guys to get all googly eyed?" Papa Louie asked.

"At any rate, I should be ready to rejoin the team in a couple of days." Truscott said, as he sipped at a pint of Guinness.

"Looking forward to this temporary assignment being over?" Papa Louie asked.

"Looking forward to getting back into operations." Truscott replied, "Anywhere."

"I wouldn't be too eager to leave Edinburgh my friend." Jan replied, "Especially if working with a fairly attractive case officer. However, if you're not interested…"

"Don't even think about it, mate." Bluey replied.

"Point made…" Jan replied, grinning, "Anyway, she's not my type."

Bluey put some money on the bar. "This round's on me."

"Why thank you." Jan replied, "Hopefully your next two days will be enjoyable."

"I'd best turn in." Truscott replied.

* * *

"You're home awfully early." Bruce noted, as he looked up from supper.

"I'll get you some food." Rebecca began, as she stood up.

"I already had dinner with my mates earlier." Bluey replied, "Thanks though."

"I can smell a couple pints on you." Rebecca noted.

"I'm off to turn in early." Bluey replied, heading for the guest room and being true to his world he got to sleep immediately.

_The two UH-1 Huey helicopters hovered over the stretch of the Nigerian jungle.The men of Recon Team Oakland, consisting of three ACME paramilitaries and seven Ibo tribesmen were aboard on of the helicopters after a harrowing chase through the jungle. Pursuing enemy Fulani troops, accompanied by Heartless were everywhere. _

_Bluey Truscott held his CAR-15 close to his chest as the aircraft of the 'Cactus Air Force', the SOG nickname for the helicopters flown by US trained pilots from nearby Camerone, flew off. A third Huey and an OH-58 Kiowa flew by. The third Huey was sporting rocket pods and as it flew a pass, it fired rockets into the tangle of low pines and dry brush. Truscott knew that some of the rockets were modified with the flammable white phosphorous. _

_He could smell the odor of death, that was about how he could describe it, as Gideon, one of their native soldiers, lay on the floor of the helicopter with labored breathing. The man had sustained half a dozen hits from a Kalashnikov rifle, and right now Jan Shimoda was working feverishly, directing the crew chief to apply pressure at designated areas. _

_He stank of sweat, dirt, and congealed, days old camouflage face paint. He felt the wind tease the tails of the olive drab headband wrapped round his forehead, as it blew the scent of burned jungle and burned flesh to his nostrils. He saw several Heartless and Fulani troops, cloaked in flames from the phosphorous and knew not even water could help the bastards. The only thing to help them was to cut the burning metal away from whatever part of their bodies it clung to. Given how quickly wounds in the jungle became infected, if the Fulani medics attempted this, most of their patients would die in days if not hours of the procedure. The burning were running madly, shrieking inhumanly, bumping into trees, each other and stumbling over roots and holes. The human torches twitched and screamed on the ground as the fire consumed them. Minutes ago they had been trying to kill him, and now they were being consumed by flame. _

Truscott woke up with a start. Two A.M. No way he was even attempting to go back to sleep. Twenty minutes later, Truscott fell asleep again.

_The Edinburgh flat was dark, as it usually was when Bruce and Rebecca were asleep. Bluey felt the need to go to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he approached, he felt liquid between his toes. "Bloody plumbing." Bluey grumbled. _

_As he headed for the kitchen, Truscott felt something odd about the liquid. It wasn't water, it was thicker almost like…What the hell? Lying propped up against the kitchen island was Gideon, still in his tiger striped jungle fatigues, with several bullet holes in his torso seeping blood into the lineoleum. Gideon's eyes were open, but it was like looking into the lifeless eyesockets of a skull._

_Suddenly Gideon sat up, his eyes glowing yellow. "AGGGHHH!" he screamed._

Truscott sat up in bed yet again. Four-thirty. Bollocks to sleep, he was off to do something, anything. He got dressed, headed to where he stored his bicycle and headed out into the dawn for a morning bike ride. _Fourth time this bloody week. _Truscott grumbled as he headed downtown, being mindful of the odd automobile that was still about.

* * *

**TBC (Pay attention to the dialogue to find out the next crossover…)**

**Football – **In the UK it refers to soccer.


	3. The Dark Continent

The Dark Continent

Disclaimer: Same as before…

* * *

"_What the hell happened here?" Truscott asked. The small village in the Nigerian countryside was a literal ghost town. Only vultures and the occassional scavenger remained as life. Dead bodies, many mutilated lay about the place. _

"_An ethnic clensing." Jan Shimoda replied. _

Truscott pumped the pedals on the bicycle as he passed another of Edinburgh's historical buildings. Seeing in his mind's eye memories of Nigeria, smelling with his mind's nose the destroyed village.

"_Ibo fight Fulani. Fulani hate them." Malawi, an ex-Cameron Army soldier, explained._

_Truscott saw the charred corpse of an Ibo tribesman, from the look of the ground, it appeared as though the man had been burned alive and tried to twist free of the tires around his body. **Bastards**. Truscott thought. **How do we expect to win against the Heartless when humans do these things to each other?**_

_A woman lay nearby, shot in the head, her hands looking as though they gripped the ankle of one of the burnt man's tormentors. Bluey imagined the woman was pleading with the soldiers to stop beating her husband, and as they set him alight, for them to show mercy and kill him quickly. Obviously she wasn't successful. _

"_Truscott, stay sharp." Shimoda said. _

Bluey Truscott pumped the pedals of the bicycle, remembering a promise he made to himself. The next Fulani soldier he saw would get shot in the belly.

He glanced at his watch again, the sun was rising so it was around six-thirty. He was near the waterfront, as he had crossed the bridge. He took a steel cable and hooked it around a nearby tree and through the straps of his backpack.

_Who put the ocean so close to the shore? _Bluey thought. It was a question he'd heard since his first days in the Royal Australian Navy. He thought it was such a silly question at first. But then he remembered memories of peace and calm on the ocean. So much beauty and wonder below the waves, a contrast to violence and destruction he saw on land.

Truscott took off his t-shirt, soft soled trail shoes, and his blue jeans and plunged into the bay, swimming about five hundred meters out, and treading water facing the sunrise. There was some peace to be found in the sea, something cleansing about the water. Thoughts of Nigeria and what he had seen, thoughts of the fighting disappeared. Thoughts of Marian entered his mind, the thoughts of the more tender variety as opposed to the confusing dance that he seemed to be forever involved with, regarding her.

After a few minutes he swam back to shore, drying off and putting his clothes back on. He unlocked his bicycle and headed back to the Edinburgh Field Office. He showed up just as roll call was being administered.

"Let me guess, no helmet." Marian began, as she saw Bluey wheeling his bicycle inside.

"You know me so well." Bluey replied, grinning.

"Go Springboks." Marian smiled, referring to the South African national team and their upcoming test match against the Wallabies.

"Bollocks. Go Wallabies." Bluey replied.

"Uncle Argyle has quite a few pounds riding on the Springboks this year." Marian replied.

"I still say the Wallabies are set for the Tri Nations this year." Bluey replied.

"Nah," Marian replied, "I think South Africa has this clenched."

"Bollocks. We Aussies aren't too shabby…" Bluey replied.

"There was the 2003 Rugby World Cup." Marian teased.

"Oh shut up…" Bluey replied.

"As the Americans say, second place is first loser." Marian continued to tease.

"Actually my money is with the All Blacks." Rebecca commented as she took a cup of coffee from the break room, "They beat both the Springboks and Wallabies last year."

"Bloody fluke that New Zealand got that one." Bluey remarked.

"Well," Marian replied, "I do have work to do, so you two can argue the merits of Australia versus New Zealand till you're blue in the face."

Helen walked over there just then, "One of those debates?"

Marian rolled her eyes, "Whenever Bluey and Rebecca get involved in an Australia versus New Zealand debate, they can take a while."

"By the way, are we still on for this afternoon?" Helen asked.

"It depends." Marian replied, "When I finish the details of your move."

"I haven't felt this spry in ages." Helen replied.

"I look forward to besting you." Marian replied, "Never underestimate a Scot's competitive drive."

"Now who's being stubborn?" Bluey said, leaning against the counter while sipping at his tea.

* * *

Marian brushed a stray lock away from her face, and checked that her hairclip was alright before she walked into the conference room. "Nervous?" Bluey asked.

"Don't you have work to do?" Marian asked.

"Not for another hour or so." Bluey replied, "If it helps, just imagine the audience naked."

"And then get accused of pederasty, pedophilia and everything else in between?" Marian replied, "No thank you."

"You're right, but I do think imagining Mr. Parr minus clothing is akin to thinking of a beached whale." Bluey replied.

"I heard that Truscott!" came the shout through the door.

"Can you two not snipe at each other for ten minutes?" Marian remarked.

"Well, if Aussie would realize that his sniping is like a Welsh Terrier barking at a Great Dane, things would be smoother." Bob shouted through the door.

"If I'm a Terrier then you're a bloody Bullmastiff that's been overfed." Bluey shouted back.

"Bob, knock it off before I send both of you to Obedience School." Helen replied.

Marian and Bluey entered the conference room just then, and Marian flashed Helen a 'thank you' look.

"So where will we be moving?" Bob asked.

"1328 Prescott Street, San Francisco." Marian replied.

"It's a perfect two story house, good enough to house a family and a Bullmastiff." Bluey replied. Marian elbowed him in the ribs.

"Terriers are a perfect dietary supplement to Bullmastiff diets, Truscott." Bob replied.

"Careful, they may have a few too many calories, mate." Bluey replied.

"Will you two quit filling the room with hostility and testosterone every time you come into contact with each other?" Helen remarked.

"You two are worse than fire and oil." Marian added.

"Well someone could use less oil in their diet." Bluey sniped.

"And somebody could always fight with someone their own size." Bob replied.

"And perhaps someone could learn a lesson in tact." Bluey countered.

"Will you quit with this pissing contest you two have been going at all week!" Marian remarked, losing her patience.

_OK, _Violet thought, _It's clear that Bluey, while he's got some attitude issues is really protective of Marian. That's so sweet. But Dad's right, it's like a Terrier barking at a Great Dane._

"Moving on." Bluey continued, "Prescott Street has some of the nicer middle class houses in San Francisco. And it's not very far from that world's ACME HQ."

"How does that work?" Helen asked.

"We'll be in touch with the ACME of that world, letting them know your situation." Marian replied, "And we will be in touch as well."

"We'll keep an eye on your situation." Bluey said, "And will inform you of any changes or anything of that sort."

"It's a Class A world." Marian began, "Meaning it has little to no knowledge of the existence of other worlds or of the Heartless."

"Who would know about other worlds or us for that matter in that reality's San Francisco?" Bob asked.

"As she said, practically no one, save a government organization or two and that world's ACME." Bluey replied.

"And I'll be in contact for a while." Marian replied.

"How long is a while?" Helen asked.

"I honestly can't say." Marian replied.

"What's the neighborhood like?" Bob asked.

"It's a typical American suburban neighborhood, interpret that how you like, but it's crime rate is fairly low, there's a large park within walking distance, and your yard is a decent sized patch of grass." Bluey replied.

"Neighbors?" Helen asked.

"A fairly average lot." Marian replied, "Three sisters that live next door to you, one with a husband and two children."

"Interesting." Bob remarked.

"Anyway, we should have you on your way to San Francisco tonight." Marian replied.

"Entry by C-5 corridor?" Truscott asked, "Assuming the bloody thing works properly this time."

"Rebecca got the quirks out of it this time." Marian protested, "And yes, they'll be going via C-5 corridor."

"C-5?" Bob asked.

"It's a dimensional travel corridor that can transport you to nearly any world you desire." Marian replied, "ACME agents have access to it, through voice recognition technology, and it's our most highly guarded secret."

_That is why paramilitaries in hot water can't be extracted by it. _Bluey thought, somewhat bitterly.

"There is all the information you want to know about this San Francisco in your information packet." Marian replied.

"Hot tip gumshoes!" came a disembodied voice. The Parrs stared at a digitized talking head against a square pink background. The digitized head was a narrow faced one with glasses and a shock of longish hair with a widow's peak.

"That's the Chief." Marian replied.

"The head of your organization is a disembodied _head_?" Dash asked, "COOL!"

"Your departure time has been moved up to three o'clock this afternoon." The Chief began, "Marian will still be your point of contact, and you have her contact information already."

"Right." Marian replied, as the Chief blinked out, "You'd best get packed. And I'd best get ready."

"Oi Truscott." Came another voice from the doorway, "Meeting here in ten."

"Let me guess, classified?" Marian asked.

"You know it." Bluey replied.

* * *

The C-5 corridor room was a large space, the size of an amphitheater crammed with electronic equipment, banks of computers, and technicians moving all about the place, making adjustments.

"It's faster than flying." Marian replied, and said the command, "C-5 us to San Francisco."

A portal opened up in the room and the six people were sucked in. Bob Parr felt like his stomach was free floating in his body, almost like being in space. Dash was enjoying practically hovering in midair, pretending he was one of the flying Supers. Violet looked like she was going to be sick, and Helen was sitting Indian style in the air, with Jack Jack on her lap. The latter was mouthing the ear of his teddy bear.

"You're traveling from Edinburgh, Scotland to the foggy shores of San Francisco, California." The Chief began, "This version is a Class A world, meaning its knowledge of other worlds is limited to non-existent. Keep that secret under your hats, ladies and gents."

Bob rolled his eyes; this 'Chief' fellow was just plain annoying how he kept appearing everywhere, and his voice was just that irritating variety. _To peppy for the serious nature of this relocation. _Bob thought. _I mean these are our lives he's talking about and he sounds like some jumped up talk show host. _

They appeared in the living room of a suburban house where several ACME agents, dressed as movers, were moving furniture into the place.

"You'll notice two palm pilots, one for you and one for Helen. They're on the kitchen counter." Marian began.

"They contain your legends. You're names have remained the same, and it has addresses where you can find work, and other pertinent information about this world." Marian continued.

"Hey, there's already mail for us." Violet remarked.

"That's how we'll communicate." Marian replied, "It seems an ordinary issue of Home and Garden, but the subscription renewal page contains a secret message. Simply run over the blank side with a pencil to see it."

"Where are you going?" Helen asked.

"As I said, I've things to attend to." Marian replied.

* * *

Papa Louie surveyed his group. In addition to Jan Shimoda and Bluey Truscott, he had added two other members to their unit. One of them was a recent recruit, Larry Purvis, a slim bodied man in his early thirties. He had served in the Israeli Defense Force **Oket'z Explosives Palga **shortly after he had graduated from college in America. The other member of the team was a K-9, a Border Collie named Sprocket.

"Right, we will be departing for San Francisco at five o'clock this afternoon, for the safe house that has been set up there for us." Papa Louie began.

"Operation type?" Truscott asked.

"Our op is primarily recon. We've received some watcher reports that Heartless have begun to appear on this world." Papa Louie replied.

"Armaments?" Jim Shimoda asked.

"As this operation is primarily recon, we'll be going in with handguns only." Papa Louie replied, "However, we have sufficient funding for heavier arms and other equipment if need be."

"Good." Truscott replied, "Other gear?"

"Well, as we're moving into a suburban house, moving in with anything identifiably military will be out of the question. Much of our stuff is going to be locally purchased." Papa Louie replied.

"Location?" Purvis asked.

"1315 Prescott Street." Papa Louie replied, "That is the safe house we'll be conducting business from. Our hidden transmitter is already set up, and we will need to radio reports on a daily basis."

"What's our legend? Four bachelors and a dog sharing a house is not exactly commonplace." Jim Shimoda asked.

"Well, I'm the landlord, and the three of you are paying renters at my house." Papa Louie replied, "And there's enough of a backstory to establish how each of you wound up there."

"I'm a surveyor?" Bluey asked.

"You used to work for a land surveying group in Australia before you got laid off and headed over here." Papa Louie explained.

"Right, and I suppose I've got my tools and everything else." Bluey added.

"They're already at the safe house. Coincidentally, we can use them to update our maps regarding Heartless infestation." Papa Louie replied.

"Day trading? How interesting." Jim Shimoda said as he read his file.

"You used to be involved with that stuff in Washington State but after a nervous breakdown, you moved down here and run a little software business." Papa Louie added.

"And I'm your nephew?" Purvis said, as he glanced at his own file.

"Yeah, you moved in with me after your divorce." Papa Louie replied.

"I like the easy to remember legends." Bluey replied.

"Off to the armory." Papa Louie ordered.

At the armory, they selected four 9mm Sig Sauer P226 handguns from the racks, as well as four spare clips apiece. After loading the magazines and putting the boxes of rounds into civilian hiking backpacks, the four men headed to the C-5 corridor room where they were relocated to the safe house.

Papa Louie picked up the palm pilot that had been issued to him for the operation and opened the file labeled 'House'. There was a diagram of hiding places for things in the house, including a trap door in the basement where heavier equipment or firearms could be stored. After committing that file to memory, he deleted it.

"Purvis, carry out a surveillance and perimeter sweep with Sprocket." Papa Louie began.

Purvis nodded and walked out of the house after leashing Sprocket and heading out into the city of San Francisco.

* * *

**TBC (I know this chapter is mainly OC, but the next chapter will have the Incredibles meeting their new next-door neighbors, and I don't mean the four SOG men…)**

**Oket'z Explosives Palga – **Israeli Defense Force K-9 unit that specializes in the search for explosive devices.


	4. Meeting the Neighbors

Meeting the Neighbors

Disclaimer: Same as before…I don't own Charmed, G.I. Joe, X-men Evolution, or Pirates of the Carribean (I know, a lot of crossovers, but I made those work in an earlier fic) either. BTW you might want to read my story _Coming of the Foe_ (the previously mentioned fic) for explanation on who the Misfits (thanks to Red Witch for creating them) are, and other questions regarding the Charmed series as depicted in my work. For those who follow Charmed at all, this story takes place shortly after the 7th Season Episode _Scry Harder_ with Leo still having his powers and Paige returning to South Bay Social Services.

AN: Many thanks to Ms. Kinnikufan for details on Gilbert Huph's life.

AN: Syndrome starts a war with a world where the Soviet Union still exists…

* * *

Gilbert Huph drank some more of his coffee as the Cadillac bounced along the highway from his estate out in the countryside. There were definite perks to being in the employ of Syndrome. One of them was being allowed a big position in the Metroville bureaucracy. Finally someone was giving him the recognition and praise and power he deserved. Someone realized his talents.

He still hadn't seen much of Bob Parr of late, which was unfortunate. He wanted so much to rub his face in it, to tell him that it was every man for himself and that it was all about image and power. He had finished an inspection of the firefighting at the Union Carbide plant fire, and thoroughly enjoyed berating the Chief Firefighter, calling him an incompetent and all but firing the man, all in front of his fellow firefighters as well.

Do gooders never seemed to realize the important fact that they had to do whatever it took to get ahead. Twenty-eight years of smear campaigns and schmoozing bosses had gotten him to the position that he sought, only to have Parr undo everything. Where was that fat old do gooder now? Maybe languishing in one of Syndrome's prisons for speaking out against the man? There was something ironic about that, an idealistic do gooder languishing in a prison? Huph laughed to himself and the car suddenly came to a halt.

"Rydinger!" Huph shouted at the older gentleman that was his chauffer, "Why are we stopping!"

"There's a big fallen tree blocking our path, sir." Jim Rydinger, Tony Rydinger's father, replied.

"Well back up and find that other exit! Find a way around it!" Huph shouted.

Jim Rydinger rolled his eyes underneath his dark sunglasses. There were times he simply rolled his eyes and dealt with the tirade of the moment Gilbert Huph tended to throw around. He would be an almost comical figure waving his arms about and screaming if he wasn't as powerful as he was now, under the new government.

"Yes sir." Jim replied and backed up the car. He felt more than heard the blast that lifted the rear of the car several feet into the air and sent it back down again. He felt dizzy as stars exploded in front of his eyes.

Gilbert Huph was similarly shaken. His coffee cup spilled all over his suit and right hand and he looked up just in time to see half a dozen men in camouflaged fatigues, wearing ski masks and carrying AK-74 and silenced AKMS-47 rifles. He registered this sight just in time as one of the commandoes rushed towards the window of his vehicle and fired his weapon into it. Thank God the windows were bullet proof.

Huph backed away from the window just in time to see a second commando throw a cylinder slightly larger than a soda can underneath the car to the gas tank. He felt the vehicle become unbearably hot as the fuel in the tanks began to catch fire. He saw Rydinger run out of the car, his hands in the air, only to be cut down by a volley of gunfire from the two nearest commandoes. Huph fled out of the door behind him, the attaché case still in his hand. If he could make it to the treeline, maybe he could evade the assassins.

Gilbert Huph never had a chance. As he ran, a commando dropped to one knee, giving the running little man just a little bit of lead before opening fire. The sound from the suppressed AKMS-47 was like a BB gun firing, and the two bullets struck Huph in the thigh and hip, sending him to the ground, still trying to drag himself to safety.

From the brush came a seventh masked commando, and the barrel of this man's AK-74 looked like the dark tunnel of a railway.

"Don't kill me…" Huph began feebly.

The soldier opened fire on full auto, emptying the weapon into Huph's face and chest, inflicting any number of fatal wounds. He grabbed the attaché case from Huph's now dead hand and signaled his team leader by holding it in the air.

Jim Rydinger lay, feebly alive, clutching at his torso and the half dozen bullets that had torn through it. He dared not make too much noise, lest the invaders realize he was still alive. He saw pools of his own blood nearby and heard what sounded like a BB gun firing and Huph screaming in pain. He heard his boss' begging and the burst of gunfire that answered it.

He felt his consciousness slipping as one of the men, obviously the leader shouted, "_Davai! Davai!_" (AN: 'Let's go' in Russian)

_Russians. _Jim realized. One of the soldiers stood over him and kicked his side. Jim didn't move, and the Russian obviously thought he was dead, for he turned away and spoke a single word which he assumed meant dead or killed.

Jim felt his vision fade as he heard the sounds of boots against the asphalt as the Russian _spetsnaz _soldiers melted seamlessly back into the forest where they had struck without warning and without pity. The rumors were true. Soviet infiltrators had already hit Metroville…

* * *

"Have a good first day at work Bob." Helen said, after they'd exchanged a quick kiss.

"Dada." Jack Jack gurgled, flapping his tiny hands as Helen shifted the infant's weight from one hip to the other.

"My first day at South Bay Social Services." Bob mused.

"I'm sure it will be fine, honey." Helen replied, "I'm sure your boss isn't going to be like Mr. Huph."

"Mom," Violet began from the kitchen, as she walked over to say goodbye to Bob, "Did you see the paper yet?"

"Which one?" Helen asked. After living in San Francisco for two days, Marian had managed to get them connected to the **Metroville Expatriate Network** and got them sent the Metroville Gazette, the publication for that organization.

"It says that Mr. Huph is dead." Violet replied.

Bob froze in midstep. Sure Mr. Huph wasn't the nicest guy in the world, but for him to drop dead like that? Even when he had been made a higher official under Syndrome, sure he'd been his usual petty and wound-tight self, but as far as deserving to die…

"What happened to him?" Bob asked.

"The article claims the Russians killed him." Violet replied, "They stopped the car and just shot him to death on the roadside."

"Syndrome's playing with fire over there." Bob replied, "Those little pissing contests he's been getting into with the Soviets…"

"We'll discuss this later, Bob." Helen replied, "At the family meeting tonight."

As Bob walked into the driveway towards his car he wondered about the issue. For nearly eight months weird things were happening in Metroville. Power outages, a Polish tanker exploding in one of the seaports, a derelict yacht exploded when the police boarded it. Not to mention more serious things were going on, a Soviet Sukhoi Su-15 interceptor shot down a passenger plane that had flown too close to the Sakhalin Island, claiming that the plane was a spy aircraft. Two of his former co-workers had died aboard that plane. And now a seemingly minor Metroville bureaucrat had been murdered. For what reason? What was the connection?

"Mom, why did the Soviets kill Mr. Huph?" Violet asked, as the door closed.

"I don't know honey, yet." Helen replied.

"Weird things were happening before we left. I mean there was that blackout we had earlier that winter, there was that huge fire in the warehouse district, and now some people killed Mr. Huph." Violet began.

"Not to mention the Soviets shot down that passenger jet." Helen replied, "And they claimed it was spying on their territory."

Helen pondered several seemingly unconnected accidents that had been happening in Metroville for the past few months. Fires, accidents, and mechanical breakdowns had been happening all over the place. The Union Carbide automotive factory had caught fire a week ago, according to the newspaper and they were still struggling to put it out. What if these occurrences weren't accidents but precursors to Soviet military action?

Helen walked outside to the car, with Violet and Dash in tow and Jack Jack in her arms. It was Monday and it was the first day of school for the kids. After dropping them off it came to her. _War. The Soviets are going to war with Metroville…_

* * *

Bob Parr sat down in the small, cramped office of South Bay Social Services. _It's about two feet wider than my cubicle at Insuricare so that's a plus. _

Bob lumbered out into the main areas, to get some coffee and stretch his legs. Mr. Cowan, an older, slightly potbellied black man was waiting for him. "You Bob Parr?"

"Yes." Bob replied.

"Mr. Cowan, I run South Bay Social Services." Cowan replied.

_So far so good. I'll wait a week. If he's anything like Huph…_Bob thought, and felt a stab of regret for thinking what he did. _Huph might have been a real prick, but even he didn't deserve to be gunned down on the roadside like some vermin you find on a farm. _

"Nice to meet you sir." Bob began, remembering his manners, "I'm sorry we didn't get to meet earlier. And we had talked on the phone."

"I remember." Cowan replied, "And I'm wondering if I hired a night club bouncer by accident."

"I used to wrestle back in high school." Bob replied.

"Certainly could help keep some of the unruly folks in line." Cowan said, semi-jokingly.

_Marian, I have to hand it to you. This guy is nothing like Mr. Huph. _Bob thought.

"And you should have your orientation, provided one of your co-workers shows up in time…" Cowan began, "I'd do it myself but I've got a meeting with the District Attorney's Office in half an hour."

"I know bureaucracy is a pain." Bob replied. _He's got a sense of humor. Points in this guy's favor._

"You have no idea." Cowan replied. _Seems like this guy could scare a few people if needed. I think I've hired myself a human rottweiler. Hell he scares ME. _

A woman with reddish brown hair just below her shoulders came running in just then. "Sorry I'm late, Mr. Cowan, I hit a traffic jam."

"Speak of the devil." Cowan replied, "Paige, this is Bob Parr, he just started working here today."

"Hi Bob." Paige smiled, and extended her hand, "Paige Matthews, I work as a social worker here. Mostly I deal with children's cases."

"Do you have any kids?" Bob asked his new co-worker, who he clearly dwarfed, but then again that was the case with most people he ran across on a daily basis.

"No. But I have two nephews." Paige replied, "What about you?"

"Three." Bob smiled faintly, thinking of Violet, Dash, and Jack Jack.

"How old?" Paige asked as they headed to the break room for some coffee.

"My daughter is fourteen, my first son is nine, and my second son is about seven months old." Bob replied.

"That's so sweet." Paige smiled as she handed Bob a Styrofoam cup.

"I usually bring my own." Bob explained.

As they sipped at coffee, the TV was playing a broadcast, "In other news today, Senator Kelly will argue before the floor a proposal regarding the Mutant Registration Act…"

Paige headed over to change the channel. "You don't like the news?" Bob asked.

"I just don't like the Mutant Registration Act." Paige replied, "It's just such a terrible thing to register people because they're different."

"I know what you mean." Bob replied, "I can see you're against it obviously. May I ask why?"

"My boyfriend works with the G.I. Joe's mutant team, called the Misfits." Paige replied, "They're basically Army mutants."

At Bob's blank stare she asked, "Have you been living under a rock lately? The X-men and Misfits have been on the news almost every night. The Misfits are former members of the Brotherhood…"

"Wait, I remember now." Bob replied, "There was something in the paper about them recently, something about property being devalued several square miles around this place called the Xavier Institute…Your boyfriend works with those lunatics?"

"They're not that bad." Paige defended.

Just then a tall, lanky African American man walked into the room, "Paige? I've been looking all over for you."

"What's going on Darryl?" Paige asked.

"Just an instance of trouble…and speak of the devil." Darryl began, as a second man, this one a Caucasian with a tanned complexion and a grown in shaved head of black hair walked in. He was wearing an olive green uniform with an Israeli flag velcroed onto his left shoulder, sunglasses, and hiking boots.

"Sorry, wrong devil." Ted replied, as he walked over to Paige, and gave her a quick kiss.

"So what brings you here?" Paige asked.

"I would love to say solely pleasure." Ted replied, "But you're at work, and I'm here on business."

"Let me guess…"

"Yep, business of the Shipwreck kind." Ted replied.

"I assume that's why you're here too, Darryl." Paige asked.

_I sure meet the weird ones in my line of work. _Bob thought.

"Exactly." Darryl replied and turned to Ted, "Let me guess, the Pirates are with him?"

"Not at present." Ted replied, "But it wouldn't surprise me if Jack Sparrow somehow snuck over here with his insane crewmates."

"Shipwreck?" Bob asked, "Will someone fill me in here."

"Oh, Ted, this is Bob, one of my new co-workers. Bob, this is Ted, my boyfriend." Paige replied, "Bob just moved here from…"

"…Syracuse. Syracuse, Italy, my family was living overseas for a while." Bob added swiftly, remembering his legend, or cover story and thankful that they had agreed on that legend from the start, to explain his slowness with all these mutant affairs.

"That explains it." Paige replied, "Why you're so slow with these mutant issues. They don't care much about mutants in Italy I've heard."

"They're more worried about crazy drivers…" Bob began, "But back to the conversation. Who is this Shipwreck guy? And those Pirates?"

"Shipwreck is a sailor, he works with the same mutant team that Ted does." Paige replied, and rolling her eyes added, "Don't get me started on the Pirates either…"

"And Shipwreck's a mutant?" Bob replied.

"No." Ted replied, "He's a normal human being…"

"Piper would disagree with you on that point." Paige replied, "And so would I to a lesser extent."

"Mountaineer, chat with your girlfriend later." Said another soldier, this one dressed like a Native American.

"I won't keep him for too much longer, Spirit." Paige replied.

"Good, I dread to see how much damage Shipwreck is going to cause when he finds the nearest bar." Spirit replied.

"I have a feeling more lawsuits will be coming your way." Paige replied.

"I'll pick you up at seven tonight." Ted replied, giving Paige a quick kiss before heading out of the building.

_Bluey Truscott, what kind of crazy world did you just send my family to? _Bob thought.

"Are you OK?" Paige asked Bob as Darryl, Spirit, and Ted left the room.

"Yeah, but a certain Australian won't be." Bob glowered.

"What Australian?" Paige asked.

"My real estate agent." Bob replied, as he headed to his office to start his first set of paperwork.

_OK, I sure meet the weird ones. A big blond guy who's scary enough to be a nightclub bouncer. Heck, Piper could use him for security at P3 if anything. _Paige thought. _What a trauma to have to be introduced to Shipwreck chaos on his first day on the job…_

* * *

Bruce glanced at the computer screen as he and Thud were working in the Interpretation Area, a part of the Edinburgh Field Office that case officers called 'the Bubble' where the intelligence interpreters hung out.

"Jesus Christ!" Bruce exclaimed.

"What's going on?" Thud replied, looking up from his own station.

"Look at the bloody map, mate! The Metroville map!" Bruce commented.

"Slow down. Not all of us think at the speed of light, wanker." Thud added.

"What do you see?" Bruce replied.

"Industrial accidents, the big tanker fiasco three weeks ago in Westport, one of Metroville's bigger seaports, one or two power blackouts…" Thud replied.

"Couple that with three recent deaths of Metroville bureaucrats, the most recent being Gilbert Huph." Bruce replied, "People are claiming the Soviets knocked him off."

"Come now. The other two were killed by a car accident and the other was knifed at a rally by some paranoid nutjob." Thud replied.

"Third party." Bruce replied, "Who else but an expendable agent would the Soviets use to not implicate themselves in this entire lot?"

"I still don't follow how you're claiming the Soviets are responsible for this entire lot." Thud replied.

"You don't?" Bruce replied, "Don't you think it's strange all these accidents have been occurring shortly after Syndrome took power?"

"Hey, no one said megalomaniacs could manage nations properly." Thud contradicted.

"Don't you think that it's possible that those acts and deaths could have been sabotage?" the Australian asked.

"Hey, that Polish tanker had a sorry safety record to begin with." Thud argued, "And the power plant was operating with some faulty gear anyway. It was only a matter of time…"

"And Huph being bumped off?" Bruce replied.

"Some whack jobs that don't like bureaucrats. Or maybe someone he'd shit on over the years decided to get his own back." Thud replied.

"There was the Metroville Airlines incident last month." Bruce countered.

"To be fair, the Soviets were chasing an electronic surveillance aircraft spying on Sakhalin Island." Thud replied, "The airliner happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"True. But those sabotage acts are definitely the stock in trade of the Soviet **_spetsnaz _**formations." Bruce replied, "Think about it. They're specialized troops that deal in causing sabotage, chaos and mayhem against the brains and teeth of a state."

"You could have a point." Thud began, as he glanced back at his monitor, "Our listening post off the coast of Metroville just sent us a message."

"What happened?" Bruce asked.

"Apparently there was a derelict motorized yacht off the coast. It had been drifting for several days." Thud replied, "The Metroville Police sent a motorized launch to board her and it suddenly exploded and sank, killing half a dozen Metroville Policemen."

"What do we know about the yacht?" Bruce asked.

"Well, according to Hermes, our agent on the Metroville coast, the yacht was registered to some old philanthropist living in Norway. It was flying a Norweigan flag. I'd be willing to believe your Soviet theory if…" Thud began, his voice trailing off.

"If?" Bruce prompted.

"I'm such an idiot." Thud remarked, "Of course. **False flagging**. The Soviets must have purchased the yacht, after she was built in Greece and created a dummy paper trail, leaving it in reserve for just such an act. But why just blow it up…"

"Because they didn't need it." Bruce replied, "The Soviets had to have sent the _spetsnaz _detachment ashore already and they put this nasty little surprise for when Metroville security found it."

"I'll go wake Carlyle." Thud replied, referring to the head of the ACME Scotland Branch.

* * *

_Crusader. _The word echoed through Bluey Truscott's mind like a curse or accusation. _Wanker. My so-called obsession with Medieval History is now going and haunting me._

He remembered how one or two of the Ibo tribesmen he'd worked with called him 'Crusader', in reference to his religious background. _Now it's the codename of our bloody team. Crusader. _

In the background, Papa Louie was making contact with that world's ACME, who would likely send a SOG member from their world as a liaison. Purvis had taken Sprocket for a walk and a patrol of the perimeter and was transmitting data to Jan Shimoda via the blue tooth cell phone he had.

Truscott walked about the house, looking for the best places to hide weapons and equipment. The big void in the basement floor seemed the best place to start. There was a trap door that was covered by a worn out old Indian carpet.

There was a knock on the door just then and Truscott answered, seeing Marian standing there, casually dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a nice sweater. "Come in." Bluey replied, letting her inside.

"News for us?" Papa Louie replied after he hanged up the phone.

"Maybe." Marian replied, "HQ from our world is abuzz."

"About what?" Bluey asked.

"Misinterpreted intelligence." Marian replied, "Several suspicious looking accidents, warehouse fires, power blackouts and the like that were going on in Metroville."

"Coincidence. Syndrome might not be the best at bureaucracy." Bluey replied.

"Well, unless you call three of his top officials being killed under suspicious circumstances coincidence. And the explosion of a yacht off of Metroville's coast a week ago." Marian replied, "It killed half a dozen Metroville policemen."

"The Soviets have been pissed off at Syndrome of late, especially with all those claims of spy missions and skirmishes along their borders." Papa Louie replied.

"There have been several shootings involving Syndrome's forces and Soviet forces along the Polish border for almost four months." Jan Shimoda added.

"That's why I stopped by to tell you." Marian replied, "We only learned of this information recently. It looks like the Soviets are going to war against Syndrome."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." Bluey replied, "I say let them kill each other."

"The Soviets are well on their way." Marian remarked, "So are Syndrome's forces. Aside from that situation, is there anything to report regarding reconnaissance?"

"Not so far, Purvis is outside of the neighborhood right now and hasn't detected any signs of Heartless." Papa Louie replied.

"Keep me posted then." Marian replied, "And he should be meeting your fellow paramilitaries on this world."

"And they are?" Papa Louie asked.

"You'll learn soon enough. I've already directed him to a dead letter box in Golden Gate Park." Marian replied.

Marian left the house and Jan Shimoda remarked, "Damn case officers. Never tell you who your contacts are until the last minute."

"Purvis is still in touch, he should let us know." Papa Louie replied.

"i.e. the only man to have ever called you 'Shiny Top' and lived." Bluey replied.

"I pretty much punished you two on the group run we did the next day, because you two put him up to it." Papa Louie grinned.

"Sadist." Jan Shimoda replied.

"It's not my fault you're not a fast runner." Bluey replied.

"You were suffering on that run too, Mr. Gazelle." Shimoda replied.

"Not till mile seven." Bluey replied.

"I just have one thing to say to that. Bollocks." Shimoda replied, and headed outside to one of the two cars in the driveway, "I'm off to pick up some dinner and get a lay of the land."

* * *

Larry Purvis lead Sprocket down one of the paths of Golden Gate Park. It was roughly noon and the sun was high in the sky. Earlier Marian MacClannough had met him at the outskirts of the neighborhood and dropped him off here with a piece of cloth that carried the same scent as the **dead letter box**.

Sprocket had found the message in relatively short order, sniffing out the dead letter box underneath a park bench. It was a short concise message. Half an hour from now he would meet a fellow who would ask him about the Springboks. _Great. Truscott would've been better for this meeting. He's the rugby fanatic; I just walk around and find things with Sprocket. _

Purvis was so lost in thought that he bumped into a young woman with neck length brown hair. "Oh, I'm sorry." Purvis began.

"It's OK." The woman replied. Sprocket barked just then, "Walking your dog?"

Purvis grinned, "Yeah. Border collies aren't the kind of dog that can take being bored for too long. They're about the most energetic breed around. Sprocket. Down boy. Down."

Sprocket sat, sniffing the air still, wagging his tail, anxious to get going. "I won't keep your owner for too much longer, Sprocket." The woman said, letting the dog sniff her hand, "He doesn't bite, does he?"

"No." Purvis replied, "But he does get restless."

"I won't keep you too long." She replied, "What's your name?"

"Larry Purvis."

"Phoebe Halliwell." The woman introduced herself, "I write the Ask Phoebe column in the paper."

Purvis looked at her with a blank stare. Phoebe continued, "You must be new here then. I write an advice column…"

"Ah." Purvis replied, and sticking to his cover he said, "I'm a curator at the museum."

"My big sister used to work there." Phoebe replied, "Before she moved away from here."

"I presume she knew Roger." Purvis began.

Phoebe laughed, "She did."

"What an insufferable prick." Purvis remarked. Sprocket barked.

"I'd best let you get on with your walk." Phoebe replied, "Take care."

"You too." Purvis replied and walked off, he now had a potential contact on their list.

As he continued his walk he noticed a brown haired man with a mustache heading his way. "How about those Springboks?" the man asked in a voice that sounded vaguely English. He was about 5'9" with a compact build, a bit broader across the shoulders than Bluey, and wore a short sleeved green Springboks jersey, jeans and a pair of Timberland hiking boots.

Purvis remembered the coded response, "I think they've got a shot. But my pal Bluey thinks that the Wallabies are far superior."

_Just like that man to come up with rugby terms for codes. _Purvis thought to himself.

The man crouched down and patted Sprocket, "Nice dog."

The contact walked away, after surreptitiously concealing a note in the dog's collar.

* * *

_TBC (Up next. The Incredibles meet the Misfits and the X-men quite unexpectedly.) _

**Dead letter box – **In espionage parlance, it is a location where one hides secret messages or other extraneous gear for a contact to pick up at a later date. An agent can pick up a note while walking his dog that his handler left underneath a stone in the park for instance.

**False flagging – **The act of wearing another nation's uniforms, flying another's colors, and carrying another nation's equipment to make the other side believe that they're under attack from a third party. Used frequently by Special Operations Forces when they want to conceal the involvement of their side in any matter behind enemy lines.

**Metroville Expatriate Network – **Refugees fleeing Syndrome who have settled on other worlds.

**_Spetsnaz – _**Soviet 'special purpose' soldiers who act as reconnaissance troops and raiders deep inside enemy territory. They do not simply gather intelligence; they act on it and typically knock out strategic targets behind the lines. They typically work for the GRU (_Glavnoe Razvedyvatel'noe Upravlenie) _translated into the 'Main Intelligence Directorate', Soviet Military Intelligence.


	5. Dinner Meeting and Night Revelation

Dinner Meeting and Night Revelation

Disclaimer: Same as before. The character of Aron Rooney Munro is my creation. They never stated Lucius' job in the Incredibles so I figured I'd make him a high school principal…

AN: The story Hey I'm On TV in the X-men Evo section is a nice shorty that will help understand some of the dialogue…

* * *

The site was a mess, Paramedic Ed James decided, though the term mess was an understatement if he ever heard one. The limousine was still smoldering from the incendiary grenade thrown underneath it. The fallen tree in front of it was still being moved by a crane, traffic having been diverted through several back roads. The back of the limo was crumpled in, with several cracks in the bullet proof glass. 

The helicopter hovered over the site of the attack, and two other fellows with a gurney rushed out. Andrea Carmichael, the other paramedic, was frantically trying to stabilize the limo driver, a grim expression on her young face. The man had been shot about half a dozen times in the torso and stomach, with large caliber assault rifle bullets if the brass casings littering the road were any indication. He assisted Andrea and the two stretcher bearers as they lifted the wounded man onto the gurney.

_The poor bastard. _Ed thought. _He isn't going to make it. He's probably got two hours, max, of life left in him. _Andrea boarded the helicopter with the two stretcher bearers while Ed headed over to the other patient.

Gilbert Huph lay on his back, two bullets in his head and seven in his torso and neck, as well as two others through his left thigh and hip. He was a complete mess, barely identifiable. His glasses were shattered, one round having gone into his left eye, the second having gone through his thick upper lip and into his throat. His face was red and puffy, swollen and barely recognizable as human. His neck sported two other holes, and his torso bore the brunt of the gunfire. Whoever shot him evidently kicked him to make sure he was dead, as if the eleven bullets that perforated his body weren't enough evidence.

"Russians." Officer Fellows, one of the police officers on the scene, said, picking up a casing, and indicating the Cyrillic writing on the rear, "Simple yet effective ambush."

Fellows dropped to one knee to examine the site of the murder from line of fire level. "They came upon that fallen tree over there, and when they backed up, the mine exploded."

"Why didn't the mine explode when they passed it in the first place?" James asked.

"Probably it was command detonated; meaning one of the guys detonated the thing after Huph's driver backed up." Fellows replied, "And then they stopped the vehicle and the killers rushed the occupants. And obviously they came prepared."

"How can you tell?" James asked.

"You can tell by the evidence." Fellows replied, "The limo's bullet proof. You'd need a fifty-caliber bullet to punch holes in it. They figured it out quickly if you look at the left rear window."

Indeed the window sported impact spots but no holes. The bullets failed to pierce. "I'm guessing they were 5.45x39 mm rounds, because of the casings, the rounds fired by an AK-74 the standard issue Soviet assault rifle."

"But they came prepared for that eventuality." Fellows continued, "Because the car's on fire. They threw an incendiary grenade underneath it, the fuel caught fire and the vehicle would have roasted the occupants alive like a giant oven. My guess is that when they ran out, they were shot. The driver got out, and as soon as he went out he got shot. But he was only a secondary matter…"

"Why not blow the car up, why risk exposing themselves." James asked.

"Obviously Huph had something important on him." Fellows added, "Look at Huph's right hand. It looks like he was clutching something when he died and the Russians took it."

"How can you tell they were Russians?" James asked.

"Look at the casings. They've got Cyrillic writing." Fellows replied.

"So do casings used by other Eastern Bloc countries. Who's to say that Czechs or Yugoslavs didn't kill him?" James replied.

"I don't have all the answers yet, Ed. But something certainly isn't right in Metroville." Fellows thought. _Besides the obvious, since Syndrome took power, things have been going to hell. First the Union Carbide plant caught fire and now this…_

* * *

"How was your first day at work, honey?" Helen asked. 

"Dada. Dada." Jack Jack clapped excitedly, when he saw Bob.

"Strange." Bob replied.

"What do you mean?" Helen asked.

"Exactly what I said." Bob said, "When I see Bluey Truscott remind me to wring his neck."

"What happened?" Helen asked.

"Well, apparently there's an insane sailor named Shipwreck on the loose, a classified army unit with mutants called the Misfits are searching for him. What kind of demented world did Truscott land us on?" Bob replied.

"Apparently one where people face hiding their identities as well." Helen sighed, "The TV's been active with news about mutants all day. The groups known as the X-men and the Misfits. Heck there was even reruns of the FYI special: Mutants in America."

"Was this Shipwreck character Paige, my co-worker, was talking about." Bob asked.

"In fact, yes. He's a member of the Misfits team, as one of their adult handlers, but he acts like an overgrown alcohol happy college kid in a sailor suit." Helen replied, "It was a classic "Hey! I'm On TV!" lunacy."

"Great." Bob replied, going into the refrigerator, and popping open a beer that he made go away in two tilts, "I need to relax before I go give a certain Australian a piece of my mind."

"Relax, Bob." Helen replied.

"When's dinner?" Bob asked.

"I figured we should go out tonight, you know to celebrate your new job…" Helen began.

"You mean celebrate the fact that my co-worker is somewhat on the absent minded side and that her boyfriend is part of the International Lunatic Society." Bob groaned.

"Bob, we have to _try _optimism." Helen urged.

"Idiot…moron…nincompoop…" Bob grumbled a mantra, "I'm going to put Bluey Truscott's head through the ceiling next time I see him."

"That's it, we're eating out tonight, like it or not." Helen replied, "Our neighbor recommended this place called Quake, she says it serves good food and you look like you could use a good meal."

"Hmm, I could go for a nice juicy steak." Bob thought.

"Remember your diet, mister." Helen replied.

"I know, I know." Bob groaned, "But since tonight's a special night and I'm going to work out later anyway."

"Quake it is then." Helen replied, "I'll go make sure the kids are ready. Go get dressed and warm up the car."

Bob walked outside, feeling slightly less homicidal regarding Truscott. _I'll just maul him instead. _Bob thought.

* * *

Purvis walked back to the house, with Sprocket, after letting the dog attend to the call of nature. He saw Jan Shimoda typing in reports on the laptop, and Papa Louie working on a large map of San Francisco, putting in colored pins and working on the mechanism that hid it behind a false panel in the living room wall. 

Marian was already in the kitchen, talking to Bluey about something as they were setting up the dinner table to meet their contacts from ACME on this world.

"Boy did I get an earful…" Marian groaned.

"Of what, earwax?" Bluey joked.

"You are not funny, Ernie…" Marian replied. Truscott reddened.

"Is your brother named Bert by any chance?" Shimoda remarked.

"Ha ha." Bluey replied.

"He got you there." Marian replied, "And my personal hygiene is none of your business."

"OK," Bluey replied, "But what happened?"

"Bob Parr had more than a few complaints about this, quote: insane world, unquote." Marian replied, "He was more angry at you though."

"Me?" Bluey replied.

"You suggested this world." Marian replied.

"If I recall, the final call was yours." Bluey countered.

"I deferred to your experience on that end." Marian replied.

"How was I supposed to know this world was populated with two teams of insane mutants that make the Hatfields and the McCoys look like a Harlequin romance?" Bluey asked.

"I agree." Marian replied.

"You two actually agreed on something work related? Let me call the press." Papa Louie quipped, "The parts that aren't classified at least."

"That would be about nine tenths of it." Marian replied.

There was a knock on the door just then and Purvis answered it, meeting the same mustachioed fellow he'd run into in the park earlier that day, still wearing the omnipresent Springboks jersey, obviously he was a South African, or at least a fan.

"The great white hunter for this trip has arrived." The man replied, and said, "Aron Munro, ACME San Francisco branch."

"Well I see someone's a Springboks fan." Truscott said.

"I take it you must be Bluey." Munro replied, "Sorry mate, the Wallabies aren't taking jack shit in the Tri-Nations."

"Bollocks." Truscott replied.

"Before you two argue any more rugby trivia," Marian replied, "Let's get down to business."

"Right." Munro replied, as they closed the door, locked it, and headed for the dinner table, "As you know doubt have guessed, I'm a South African. I served with the South African Police Service in Praetoria for two years before I transferred into the **Special Task Force** and then got picked up for ACME's SOG."

"How bad is the Heartless problem?" Purvis asked, "Because I've had a couple scent trails around Golden Gate Park, nothing major, but they're definitely here."

"Sporadic appearances, mainly isolated appearances." Munro replied.

"Sounds like the start of a Class 1 Infestation." Marian replied, "Have they made alliances with local villains?"

"Vague rumors about the Barillo Cartel in Mexico and a terrorist group called COBRA, but that's all they are, rumors." Munro replied.

"What about knowledge that other world's exist?" Marian asked.

"They don't have any idea, or maybe vague ideas." Munro replied.

"Agents?" Marian asked.

"So far nothing from our network of agents, as I've said vague rumors and maybes, nothing definite yet." Munro replied. There was a map of the surrounding area on the wall, and Munro pointed at the city map saying, "There was a battle in Golden Gate Park two weeks ago, and there were Heartless present."

"Who fought them?" Purvis asked.

"It was a group called the Misfits, together with a new group that we've seen them with. It's that house down the street, 1329 Prescott, right next door to where you moved the Incredibles if I remember correctly." Munro replied, "Fortunately our branch has quite a lot of data on the Misfits and the X-men, but none on these three sisters on Prescott."

"We'll give you a hand there." Papa Louie said, "Purvis…"

"I'm on it." Purvis replied, "Sprocket's going stir crazy for a walk anyway right now."

* * *

_What's going on? What's happening? _Tony thought. Less than fifteen minutes ago Mrs. Satterlee had called him out of class. What was wrong? He wasn't a troublemaker, wasn't one of those pyromanics or skater wannabes who kept getting into fights. He was an honor student for Christ's sake and… 

"Mom?" Tony began, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw his mother, her face red from crying and holding a handkerchief in her hands. Behind her was Mr. Best, the principal of Metroville Southern High School. His ebony features were unusually severe.

"What's going on?" Tony asked, at his mother's silence.

"Your father…" Mrs. Rydinger began, between sobs, "Someone…"

"Your father had an accident on the highway." Mr. Best began. _And I can't tell the kid the damn truth or I'm fired? The evidence is plain, the Russians stopped Huph's limo, threw an incendiary grenade underneath it, and shot both men when they came out. _

"Oh my God…" Tony began, tears appearing in his eyes. He was embarrassed and wiped them away.

"He just arrived at the hospital an hour ago. We'll take you to him." Mr. Best began, "Janice…"

"Yes Mr. Best?" Janice Rand, his secretary, began.

"Tell Assistant Principal Jenkins to take care of things for now, I'm taking the family to the hospital." Lucius replied, as he escorted the Rydingers to the parking lot.

Allyson Fellows, one of the other teachers at the school had overheard the whole thing. "Accident? What kind of euphemism is that?" Allyson replied, "The family has a right to know."

Janice Rand adjusted her glasses and replied, "Don't rock the boat, Allyson, the government wants to keep whatever happened to Huph under wraps until the press release."

"My husband is on the investigation and he thinks the Russians are responsible." Allyson replied, "Don't the people of Metroville have a right to know that we're being attacked?"

"We'll know soon enough." Janice Rand began.

Meanwhile, Lucius parked his car in the hospital parking lot and talked to the receptionist at the front desk. A nurse led Tony and his mother to the Intensive Care Unit where Tony's older brother, Dan (nineteen years old), and his younger sister Kayla (four years old) waited.

Tony walked into the room and saw his father lying on a bed. Tubes and wires of every imaginable kind were poking off of his body, connecting to machines and bags of various kinds. An oxygen mask covered the man's lower face.

"Wh-What happened…?" Tony asked.

The television in the room reported a news broadcast just then before any of his family could respond.

"Unknown assailants murdered Metroville Comptroller Gilbert Huph for unknown motives this morning. His driver, James Rydinger is listed in critical condition after being airlifted to Metroville Hospital. The assailants were well armed, as the presence of several large caliber bullet casings from Eastern Bloc assault rifles were found on the scene, as were fragments from a firebomb. In other news, the Union Carbide Automotive Plant fire is still burning…" the newscaster said.

_Murdered. Somebody tried to kill Dad? But why? Dad wouldn't have hurt a fly, he was the nicest person alive. _Tony reeled.

"Unknown assailants my ass." Dan grumbled, "The Russians did it."

"Russians?" Tony asked.

"Mr. Huph was the primary target and Dad just happened to be in the way." Dan replied.

"Why did they shoot Dad to begin with?" Tony asked.

"No witnesses." Dan replied a hard line setting into his face, "They didn't want Dad telling anyone who did this so they shot him."

"Mommy?" Kayla asked, "Why did those mean people hurt Daddy?"

"I don't know sweetie. I don't know." Mrs. Rydinger began as she clutched her daughter to her chest.

* * *

Purvis walked down the street, Sprocket on his leash in front of him. On the surface they just looked like an ordinary guy in a waterproof jacket, jeans and hiking boots walking a slightly over energetic Border Collie. In reality, Sprocket was searching for signs of the Heartless. 

"Anything boy?" Purvis asked, as he dropped to one knee to scratch Sprocket affectionately behind one ear.

Sprocket gave a canine equivalent of an annoyed chuff. There was nothing of any note over there. Almost to the end of the street, and still there was nothing of any note except,

Sprocket suddenly barked and Purvis was about to speak into the Bluetooth when Sprocket suddenly strained at his leash, barking at a Siamese cat.

"Sprocket! Down boy! Down!" Purvis began firmly, yanking back on Sprocket's leash, "We see cats all the time, why is this one putting you on edge all of a sudden?"

"Hey," a voice said, from his right side.

"Hi." Purvis said, "I'm not stalking you, I swear."

Purvis turned to see Phoebe standing next to him, "Kit, back in the house."

The cat slinked back towards the front of 1329 Prescott Street, "Sorry Sprocket got out of control."

"It's OK, he didn't hurt Kit." Phoebe replied.

"He's usually not this tense around cats, I don't know what got into him." Purvis replied.

Sprocket growled at Kit, who stood his ground and hissed back at Sprocket. "Talk about fighting like cats and dogs." Phoebe remarked.

"I'm terribly sorry miss," Purvis began, "I've never seen Sprocket act this way around cats in my life."

"It's OK, Kit's just a special kind of cat." Phoebe began.

"Sprocket, sit!" Purvis commanded and Sprocket did as he was told.

"So Sprocket doesn't like cats?" Phoebe asked.

"He's not usually this strange around cats." Purvis said.

"I'd best let you two keep on your walk." Phoebe replied.

Purvis smiled, "That would be best, to keep Sprocket in line."

As Phoebe headed back into the house, Purvis asked, "What's gotten into you boy?"

* * *

"I trust you find your meal to your liking." Theowner of Quake asked. 

"Everything is delicious." Bob smiled, as he munched down a piece of his steak.

"Smaller bites Dash, yikes." Helen began, as Dash tried to tear a piece off his own steak with his teeth, "Bob, can you help the carnivore cut his meat."

Bob took his knife and cut at his son's steak. The meal was going great. For once Dash and Violet were getting along, Jack Jack was being his usual cute self, and Helen was still the woman he loved. He sipped at his wine when he heard a shout from the entrance of the restaurant.

"You're not getting away Zartan!" shouted a bearded man in a sailor suit.

The manager of Quake ripped off the mask of a forty year old Frenchman, revealing a face of a man with strange brown tattoos like a raccoon tan around his eyes and long brown hair.

"You're right Shipwreck!" Zartan shouted.

Shipwreck was quickly joined by the Indian and the Canadian in the Israeli uniform that Bob had seen earlier.

"It's no use running Zartan." Spirit replied.

"I have no intention of running at all Spirit…" Zartan replied.

"Standing and fighting would be pointless, Zartan, as we have you surrounded." Spirit replied.

"On the contrary Spirit." Zartan replied.

"COBRA!" came a shout from all over the restaurant as several patrons, bartenders, and waiters pulled out guns from nearby hiding places.

The Parrs followed the other innocents and ducked for cover, but this was only to buy some time as the battle began to rage nearby them. Bob tore open his shirt, revealing his red super suit and put on his mask. Helen followed her husband's lead as did the children.

Bob saw a teenaged boy, maybe nineteen at the oldest standing in the doorway. _He's gonna get killed. Gotta save him! _

Bob sprang towards the boy, just as the boy's eyes rolled into his own head and he squeezed his hands into fists, causing the restaurant to shake violently like an earthquake.

"WHOO HOO! WHOO HOO! WHOO HOO!" A silver haired teenager shouted as he ran among the COBRA gunmen, knocking them over, bashing heads together and pulling wedgies. The COBRAs tried to fire, but their bullets hit nothing but air.

Violet looked up from under the table only to find herself staring into the barrel of a gun, in the hands of this Zartan character. She looked at Dash, and Dash nodded and began to run at top speed. Violet simultaneously generated a forcefield bubble and they ran around the restaurant like a giant bowling ball, knocking things over as they went.

"KEEYAH!" Another teenager with dirty blonde hair shouted, as he swung his bo staff into the head of a Viper.

"Toad, watch your six!" Mountaineer shouted, leveling his CAR-15 and squeezing off two shots, killing a second COBRA about to shoot Toad.

"Thanks Mountaineer!" Toad replied.

Bob picked up a viper and flung him into a couple others charging out of the kitchen as Helen stretched her free hand and kicked out her feet as well, hitting COBRAs left and right, while she cradled Jack Jack in her arms.

A strange looking green humanoid with golden mane leapt atop a table and several COBRAs tried to shoot him. He was dodging around their bullets by doing disco moves, singing, "_Everybody! Come on sound your funky horn!" _

Xi, the repto-humanoid, flipped into the air, drop kicking one COBRA, burying his claws into the chest of another and kicking a third over. A fourth tried to rifle but Xi only to be shot twice by Shipwreck's twin Desert Eagles, with their .50 Action Express rounds.

"COBRA!" Came another warcry as several robotic humanoids came charging through the skylight.

"Xi!" A big, broad bodied teen with a mohawk shouted, "Ally…"

Xi promptly jumped onto the bigger teens back as the bigger one squatted down. "OOP!" Xi shouted as the Blob, a.k.a. Freddy Dukes, stood to his full height and he leapt into the air at the BATS (Battle Android Troopers). He decapitated the BAT he collided with, a la Ozzy Osborne, and flung the head into a second BAT.

"Time to cut out!" Zartan shouted, flinging down a sphere which flooded smoke into the restaurant through which he escaped.

Bob Parr decided now was about the best time to get out before the Misfits saw them. He signaled for Helen and the kids to follow and they ran into a nearby alley where they resumed their secret identities and appeared to be any normal family fleeing the scene of a battle.

"Remind me to kill Bluey Truscott later." Bob grumbled, taking some mashed potatoes out of his hair.

"Trust me honey, I'll help." Helen replied as Jack Jack gurgled as he played with a silver cylinder.

"What is that you've got their honey?" Helen said, as she looked down at her baby and noticed that the cylinder had a red COBRA head on it.

Bob promptly snatched it saying, "It's a…"

"Dad?" Dash asked, "Is it a bad thing if there's no little ring on the grenade?"

"Of course it is son, why?"

"Uhm, I think Jack Jack's teething on the firing pin…" Dash began.

"That means I'd better count to ten and through this away…" Bob began.

"One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…" Bob counted.

BANG! The grenade exploded in a silver flash, it was one of the flash type grenades used to disorient suspects in hostage situations.

"…nine…ten…" Bob groaned as he blinked the grenades disorienting effects away.

"Truscott, you are dead." Bob grumbled, "No, scratch that, you'll be lucky if you only die."

Meanwhile in Quake, the Misfits stood amidst the wreckage of the restaurant. "Zartan got away? Hawk's not gonna be happy." Roadblock, the powerful African American heavy weapons man, began.

"My question is who those weirdoes in red suits that started attacking the COBRAs were?" Shipwreck asked.

"I would guess that they're friendlies." Spirit mused, "After all, they didn't go after us at all."

"For all we know they could be a new COBRA faction." Mountaineer began, "After all, one of them came charging after Lance."

"That's because there was a COBRA about to shoot Lance, he was trying to save him." Cover Girl, a red headed former runway model and tank driver, replied.

"We can't discount they could be COBRAs or some similar enemy." Ted replied.

"Did you guys get that tracking sensor on them?" Shipwreck spoke into a throat-mike (a portable communication device).

"Of course." Trinity replied, "We tagged them after they left the restaurant, they're on their way home."

"I could shadow them." Low Light suggested, "Make a note of their movements and see what it is they're all about before we make contact."

"Do it." Roadblock replied.

The G.I. Joe sniper vanished into the shadows stealthily to carry out his mission, the PSG-1 sniper rifle strapped to his back.

Meanwhile, Xi and Toad had freed a Frenchman from the backroom where Zartan had knocked him out.

"My restaurant! It's ruined! GET OUT! GET OUT!"

"Let's not be too brash." Roadblock began, "Perhaps we can help with repairs, and take out the trash."

"Who will pick up the bill?" the owner demanded.

"How much will repairs cost?" Cover Girl asked.

The owner handed her the bill and Cover Girl replied, "Hawk's going to blow a gasket, isn't he?"

"He always does." Roadblock replied, "In other words, we've got new players in town and caused more public damage and destruction in San Francisco."

"Basically another Thursday night." Mountaineer replied as the Misfits teleported, via the Mass Device, back to their base somewhere in the Utah desert, called the Pit.

* * *

"_And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the **billabong**. Who'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me?" – _From Eric Bogle's **And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda.**

_The lead man of the Fulani patrol passed by the kill zone, unaware that his last moments were at hand, as the eyes of a dozen men watched the Fulani patrol of twenty people pass. The Ibo pointman to Truscott's left looked to Papa Louie. The nine Ibo soldiers thirsted for revenge, after hearing of the ethnic cleansings that were tearing through their villages, the deaths of family and friends. _

_Bluey Truscott sighted the lead man with his CAR-15, waiting for the patrol to be suckered into the killzone. He had to admire the Ibo tribesmen. Six weeks ago they would have blasted the Fulani pointman to hell, but they grasped the concept that they had to let the patrol pass fully into the kill zone before pouncing. Sucker them in and kill them all, show no mercy._

_BOOM! Jan Shimoda triggered the Claymore mines which flung hundreds of razor edged metal fragments into the patrol, practically obliterating the men. As soon as the mines went off, Bluey Truscott flicked the safety off of his CAR-15 as the Fulani pointman, his legs a mess from the shrapnel, tried to crawl to safety in a nearby ditch. Bluey fired a single, well aimed shot that entered the back of the man's skull._

_Every single man in the patrol opened fire, in short bursts or in rapid single shots. The Fulani survivors didn't have a chance, as the enraged Ibo shredded them apart without mercy. "Cease fire! Cease fire!" Papa Louie shouted._

"_Cease fire!" Truscott shouted, echoing the command. _

_The shooting stopped as the Ibo melted from the jungle to the dead or dying Fulani, taking weapons, ammunition, and documents from the corpses. A wounded Fulani tried to crawl away only to have Malawi whack him in the neck with his machete_

_Truscott heard a moan to his left and turned to see a Fulani soldier, lying on his side, his left arm below the elbow blown away by the shrapnel Both of his legs were riddled with shards of metal.. Truscott flipped him onto his back with the toe and aimed the CAR-15. **It's a kid! A God damned kid!**_

_Indeed, the boy was hardly even sixteen at the oldest. His AK-47 lay nearby, with three strings that had human ears on the ends of them. For all he knew, this kid had taken the grisly souvenirs from that burned out Ibo village he had seen. Tears mixed with blood on the boy's face as Truscott stared down at him. The poor bastard had a grand total of fifteen to twenty minutes of life left before he bled out. **Leave the bastard for God's sake. He doesn't deserve a mercy killing. It's only fair for the dead people in that Ibo village. Let him suffer. **Truscott finally decided. _

_Bluey left the site of the ambush with the rest of his team, covering the tail of the unit like any good **One-One**…_

Bluey Truscott sat up in bed just then. He threw his clothing on, left a note on the fridge, and grabbed a light jacket before heading outside for a stroll, the Sig Sauer 9mm concealed underneath his untucked gray jacket. He still saw the eyes and the mixture of blood, tears and dirt on the dying boy's face, and his plaintive cries before he finally bled out or before some scavenging leopard got to him.

_And you're feeling sorry for that fucker why? He helped kill innocent people. _Truscott thought, and regained some measure of peace. _Wasn't he a kid though? He just swallowed all General Mustafa Yakubu's nonsense and believed in the whole idea of Muslim purity. He was a mixed up bloke who didn't belong out there._

He wandered aimlessly, finding himself at Golden Gate Park where he ran across Marian. "Bluey, you're up early?" she said.

"I could say the same, mate." Bluey replied.

"I can't say what I'm up for." Marian replied, concern etching her features as she noticed Truscott's faraway look, "What's going on?"

_He wasn't a mixed up kid. The fucker would add your ear to his collection if he'd had half a chance. _Truscott thought. _He was still sixteen._

"I'd rather not say." Bluey replied. Marian closed the distance between them, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"I know you saw things out there Bluey." Marian replied, with a wry expression adding, "I do have the clearance to read your SOG after action reports. It might help to get it off your chest."

Bluey returned the embrace. God it felt so good to hold her in his arms. He heard a voice in the back of his head. _You don't deserve her. A woman like her would be horrified._

"_And how well I remember that terrible day…" _**– And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.**

"_How did it feel to kill them?" an old woman in the SOG compound, a relative of one of the soldiers asked._

_A very tired Bluey Truscott, still calming from the adrenaline, replied, "The bastards got what they deserved, no more no less." _

"_What did it feel like to kill boy soldiers?" an old man challenged._

"_Listen mate, the blokes I shot were trying to kill me, but I killed the bastards first!" Bluey shouted, angrily, "So if you want an honest answer it felt fucking good!"_

"Bluey, whatever is bothering you; you know you can tell me." Marian said.

"I'll be alright." Bluey replied.

Marian took one of his hands in both of hers, a hurt expression on her face, "Any time you're ready to talk you know where to find me."

_Wanker! You certainly demonstrated a spectacular ability to hurt someone close to you. _Bluey thought angrily. _But if she knew…_

"_So they gathered the crippled, the wounded and maimed, and they shipped us back home to Australia. The legless, the armless, the blind and insane, the proud wounded heroes of **Suvla**." _**- And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda.**

* * *

Murmansk Oblast, Soviet Naval Base. 

"Soyuz nerushimy respublik svobodnykh. Splotila naveki velikaya Rus! Da zdravstvuyet sozdanny voley narodov/ Yediny, moguchy Sovetsky Soyuz!" the voices of eighty-seven men of Soviet Naval _spetsnaz_ detachment 2-F-50 echoed loudly across the deck of the Krivak Missile Frigate.

The smell of Baltic Sea was carried by the wind's biting sting, and carried the words of the men over the waves and across the quay. By nightfall the ship would rendezvous with a Soviet submarine complaining of 'engine troubles' in Soviet waters. In reality the submarine would carry the eighty-seven man _spetsnaz_ detachment to Metroville's shores.

The voices of the spetsnaz men, undistinguishable from the crewmembers of the Krivak frigate for they wore the same Navy uniforms, blended with the voices of the crew of the _Voronezh _as they carried out their morning dedication to the Soviet Motherland.

They had vague knowledge, through unconfirmed rumor, that several of their comrades were already engaged in the fighting. Neither the _Voronezh _crew nor the men of _spetsnaz _detachment 2-F-50 had any true knowledge that their brethren from the better equipped **professional athlete formations** of the _spetsnaz _were already engaged in the fighting.

Comissar Mikhail Kulikov lead the singing of the Soviet national anthem from the bridge of the warship, standing alongside the captain and executive officer.

"Slavsya, Otechestvo nashe svobodnoye,Druzby narodov nadyozhny oplot, Partiya Lenina – Sila narodnaya Nas k torzhestvu kommunizma vedyot!" As the last strains of the Hymn of the Soviet Union died away, the crew sprang to their positions, disconnecting hoses and disengaging mooring lines.

"Set maneuvering watches." The watch officer commanded, "All engines ahead one third."

"Engines ahead one third aye." The helmsman responded. The _Voronezh _maneuvered away from the pier.

Lieutenant Nikolai Vatunin looked over the eighty-seven man detachment, commanded by Major Anatoly Ivanovich. 2-F-50. The only thing that separated them from the crewmembers of the frigate was the fact that they were trained to raid overland from the seas. The weapons and other kit were stored below deck, and the gathering on the main deck ended.

"Comrade Major, all equipment and gear are below decks. I've already sent the NCOs to inspect the men's kits and the aqualungs." Nikolai began.

"Noted, lieutenant." Ivanovich replied. As soon as the other officer had disappeared below decks, Ivanovich glanced at his watch.

As soon as his watch read 18.00 (6 PM) local time he opened the sealed envelope in his pocket. It read: "Execute Phase Two. Receive Instructions aboard _Kosmolets._"

Ivanovich would learn what exactly his mission was, as soon as he boarded the submarine _Kosmolets._

* * *

TBC 

**Billabong – **A freshwater pool from backwaters of streams in the Australian Outback.

**One-One – **SOG Assistant Team Leader, a One-Zero is a Team Leader, and a One-Two is the radio operator. One-Three's are specialists of any kind.

**Professional Athlete Formations **– The Soviet _Spetsnaz_ consists of three major components. The first is the most numerous, the fighting units consisting of a mix of conscripts who are especially strong and tough and seasoned veterans who serve more than the mandatory two years. The second component is the professional athlete service, members of various government funded sports clubs throughout the Soviet Union. These soldiers are athletes of Olympic caliber who compete in sports such as triathlons, cross country skiing, boxing, competitive swimming, and shooting to name just three and are utilized in the most dangerous operations behind the enemy lines before the outbreak of an actual war. The third component consists of agents (spies) who help the _Spetsnaz_ formations behind enemy lines.

**Special Task Force – **Paramilitary unit of the South African Police Service that arrests dangerous warrants and deals with hostage situations and similar emergencies all over South Africa.

**Suvla – **A particularly hellish portion of the battle at Gallipoli where many Australians and New Zealanders died in battle against the Turks and Germans.


	6. Start the Fire

We Didn't Start the Fire

Disclaimer: Same as before…I know this one's published a bit late for the 25th of April, but for the Australians who read this, Happy ANZAC Day. The character Jana Reilly is my creation. Marcus Culp is Munro's alias…

* * *

"Marcus…" Came a voice, a woman's voice.

Aron Munro turned to face the tall, red haired woman lying in the bed beside him. He turned to her, smiling. "And a very good morning to you."

He kissed her tenderly on the lips, and then deepened the kiss, shifting his position to lying on one side facing her, to rolling on top of her. Just then there was a distinct sound of a mobile phone going off.

"What's that?" Jan Reilly, the red haired woman, asked.

"You knew what it was last night." The South African replied.

Jana playfully slapped him on the side, "No, silly. What's that…?"

_This had better be good. _Munro thought as he reached over to the bedside table for his mobile. _Damn. Talk about lousy timing._

"What kind of surveying work do you do at this hour?" Jana asked, sleepily noting that it was about 6:22 AM on her bedside clock.

"Quite a lot of it actually." Munro replied, as he stood up and began to slide his trousers on, "I'll be back tonight, I promise."

"Hmm." Jana began, as Munro kissed her again, "I consider that one sealed with a kiss."

"And I guarantee I'll be back." Munro replied. _This had better be good. _Munro thought.

Jana pulled the sheet above the swell of her breasts, and sat up, watching ruefully as he threw his shirt and shoes on and walked outside.

Aron Munro, when the bedroom door closed, glanced behind him. The damndest thing about this Clandestine Service community was that it intruded on you at the worse possible times, such as when you were in bed with a woman you were serious about. _Kind of hard to be serious when she thinks your name is Marcus Culp and you work as a surveyor for the county when in fact your real name is Aron Munro and you work as a paramilitary bloke. _

He took his jacket from the coat rack, taking the time to compose a little note for Jana and leaving it under her upturned coffee mug on the kitchen counter. He made sure the door to the apartment was locked before he walked downstairs to meet the caller. He saw Bluey Truscott waiting in the lobby.

"What's going on?" Aron asked.

"There was a disturbance last night, at Quake." Bluey began.

"I know." Aron replied.

"What happened over there?" Bluey asked.

"A scuffle between COBRA and the Misfits, with your friends the Incredibles caught in the middle." Aron replied, "Shall we take a drive and discuss this."

"Of course." Bluey replied, as they walked out to the apartment building's parking lot, where a desert tan, fairly beat up, 2004 Toyota Landcruiser was parked.

The two men climbed into the vehicle and closed the doors on their respective sides. "COBRA activity?"

"It's been confined to the Mexico Area of Operations for a long time, as far as the North America Office is concerned." Aron replied, "But we've had one confirmed and several unconfirmed sightings of COBRA personnel here."

"What Tier?" Truscott asked.

"So far, Zartan and the Dreadnoks are the only Tier One personalities we've presumed to be in the area." Aron replied, "Most of them are your typical Tier Three blokes, as in recruiting disenfranchised or pissed off urban youth to train as foot soldiers, liaisons for drug pushers, and maybe a minor agent or two that doesn't supply us names as far as handlers are concerned."

"Right." Bluey replied, "But what's a Tier-One doing in an area considered a backwater for Tier Three blokes?"

"You'd have to actually interrogate Zartan to figure that out." Aron replied, "The Misfits have been unusually active here for some reason."

"When was that started?" Bluey began.

"It started about two months ago." Aron replied, "First a group of FOH activists in the city got beat up by Shipwreck..."

"Shipwreck?" Bluey asked.

"He's an insane sailor that's part of the G.I. Joe team." Aron replied, "He's part of the Misfits as one of its adult human handlers. His children include the Misfits Wavedancer and Trinity. It's all in that file under your seat."

Truscott thumbed through the file, "Trinity? Wait a bloody second, you mean those insane triplets banned from McDonalds in four U.S. states and Hawaii are his children."

"Couldn't you tell?" Aron commented, "Destruction and insanity follow this group wherever they go."

"These reports make the barbarian invasions of Europe look like fashion shows in Milan." Truscott commented, as they stopped at ACME HQ, "I'd best get back to the safehouse and report all this. Mind if I borrow this file?"

"By all means, mate." Aron replied, handing him a USB jump drive.

"Thanks." Bluey replied as he headed for the bus station.

Aron Munro walked into the main lobby where he was joined by an unassuming looking, balding man in a gray suit. He recognized David 'Doctor' Cohn, the head of the Counter-Terrorism Section of ACME and his boss walking alongside him.

"So how is the project going?" Cohn replied.

"Reasonably well." Aron replied, neutrally.

"With the exception of side consequences, namely Jana Reilly of the Bay Mirror." Cohn replied, "How did you meet her again?"

"Well, it was during the recruiting operation, where we recruited Fingers." Aron replied, "I kept coming to this coffee house during her lunch hour waiting for Fingers to turn up, and she thought I was this lonely guy named Marcus who worked as a surveyor for San Francisco County."

"Have you told her?" Cohn asked.

"Not yet." Aron replied.

"Well, how is she going to take it when she finds out your real name's Aron Munro and you're a paramilitary officer with the Special Operations Group?" Cohn asked as the two men walked into the elevator.

"When did you tell your wife you were a spook? When you met? When you married?" Aron asked.

"Just after we planned our wedding. Wanted it to be official." Cohn replied.

* * *

It was around seven-thirty AM when Bluey Truscott walked inside the safe house. He found Jan Shimoda standing on the front porch.

"You OK, Truscott?" Shimoda asked.

"I'm fine, mate. I just needed a walk." Bluey replied.

"Marian stopped by earlier." Jan began, "She said she ran into you at the park, and added she's worried about you. You haven't exactly been the same since we got back from Nigeria."

"Look, mate, I'm still in the game." Bluey replied.

"I don't doubt that." Jan Shimoda replied, "But realize there's a lot more to life than the job. We're not getting any younger."

"Think she'd want a bloke who's seen all that I've seen." Bluey countered.

"In your own words: 'bollocks'." Shimoda replied, "You know that Carrie-Ann and I have had a happy marriage for almost ten years, with the two kids, the dog, and the white picket fence."

"How is your lot by the way, mate?" Bluey asked, "And my godson."

"You're a corrupting influence." Jan Shimoda grinned, "My nine-year-old says he wants to be a **swagman **when he grows up, and roam the Australian outback."

"It's not my fault he likes our national song." Bluey countered.

"Gee, a song about a hobo who steals a sheep, gets confronted by the cops and the rancher, and jumps into a billabong to avoid being arrested. What's not to like?" Shimoda began, sarcastically.

"Exactly. It shows our traditional Australian disregard for established authority." Bluey replied.

"No, it's a song about a criminal." Shimoda replied, "Not surprising considering you Australians are an elite."

"This is true, mate." Bluey replied.

"An elite chosen by the best judges in England." Shimoda replied, "Had your great-great-great grandfather not been such a bloody criminal you wouldn't be called an Australian."

"Wanker." Bluey replied, "Marian put you up to that one, didn't she?"

"I thought that one up on my own." Shimoda replied, "Actually she told me to say, Happy ANZAC day to you."

"Bollocks! I totally forgot." Bluey replied.

"About how you two exchange small gifts and cards on ANZAC day?" Shimoda grinned.

"Exactly." Bluey replied, "I'll go hunt up something later today."

"Anything of note?" Shimoda asked.

"Apparently the Incredibles got into some kind of fight last night at Quake." Bluey replied, "Aron told me the details after I'd heard someone talking about it."

"How bad?" Shimoda asked.

"They weren't noticed, I don't think, but I do think our files on COBRA need to updated." Bluey replied.

"What? They were involved?" Shimoda replied.

"Yeah. I've already passed word that COBRA's active in San Francisco for reasons unknown to ACME." Bluey replied.

"Good." Shimoda replied.

"I'm about to head over to see if I can't get in touch with Marian and let her know about all that." Bluey replied.

* * *

"How was your night out?" Marian asked Helen, as the latter let her inside the house.

"Let's just say Bob isn't too happy with Bluey right now and leave it at that." Helen replied.

"What happened?" Marian asked. Just then her mobile rang, and she answered. "An altercation at Quake? Yeah, I'm here with them, I'll get their side of the story."

Marian hung up and Helen asked, "Who was that?"

"Bluey," Marian replied, "He was asking if I'd heard about what happened last night."

"Well, we were enjoying a nice dinner at Quake, a restaurant where one of our neighbors used to work." Helen replied, "Then the Misfits, I presume you know who they are…"

"A little bit." Marian replied, "Apparently this world's ACME has more information than our field office had on the Misfits."

"Anyway, the Misfits came into the restaurant after this character named Zartan, apparently he's a master of disguise." Helen replied, "Long story short, they tore the restaurant to shreds and we were caught in the middle."

"Ouch." Marian replied, "That can't be good."

"Yeah, considering we got into a fight and barely escaped being noticed. Not two minutes after we got out a KTSF news van appeared just outside of the restaurant." Helen replied.

"Where's Bob?" Marian asked.

"He's at work." Helen replied, "He doesn't complain nearly as much about his job at South Bay Social Services nearly as much as he did when he was with Insuracare."

"Speaking of Insuracare, you heard that Huph got killed." Marian replied.

"I heard it from the expatriate network." Helen replied, "How did you relocate so many people here?"

"We have our ways." Marian replied, "We moved a lot of the refugees from you world to many other worlds, set them up with jobs and in communities and they still keep in touch with that newspaper of yours."

"What's the situation with the Russians?" Helen asked.

"That's classified I'm afraid, but all I can say all signs are that Metroville is going to war with the Soviet Union. And the Soviets upped the ante by assassinating Gilbert Huph." Marian replied.

"I know." Helen replied, with a sigh, imagining all the people she knew back in Metroville, those same innocents she had struggled to protect would now be caught between the guns of Syndrome's forces and those of the Soviets. God forbid the Russians decided to use their nuclear capability, if the Omnidroids ever got deployed…

"Are you alright?" Marian asked.

"I'm so worried." Helen confided, "We left so many people we knew back in Metroville. We used to protect them from the likes of Syndrome, but now that he's in charge and dragged them into war with the Soviet Union. I don't want to think about them being trapped between Syndrome's guns and the guns of the Warsaw Pact."

Marian recognized the unexpressed pain in Mrs. Parr's face, as the pain she had seen with many refugees from worlds attacked by the Heartless. Now her home faced destruction from Syndrome and the Heartless inside and the ominous threat of the invading Soviets on the outside.

Marian's mobile went off again and she saw a text message on the screen of her phone and smiled.

"What is it?" Helen asked, grateful for the distraction from such grim thinking.

"Bluey just text messaged me." Marian replied, "He just said 'Happy ANZAC Day. Stand by to be pleasantly surprised…'"

"ANZAC Day?" Helen asked.

"Australia, New Zealand Army Corps Day. It's to commemorate Australians and New Zealanders who fought during the First and Second World Wars." Marian replied, "I've known Bluey since we were children, and my parents worked in Australia and lived next door to his family. We always celebrated ANZAC Day together."

"What's the story with you and Bluey?" Helen asked.

"It's complicated." Marian replied.

"I can tell he really cares about you." Helen observed.

"Sometimes I worry." Marian confessed, "It's like he pushes me away at times. He's become more distant since he got sent to Nigeria a year and a half ago."

"So you grew up together, and you obviously like each other. Why didn't you ever…" Helen replied.

"My dating life is none of your business." Marian replied, defensively.

"I'm sorry." Helen replied.

"I have to get back to work anyway." Marian replied.

"If you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me." Helen replied.

"Thank you." Marian replied, as she followed Helen to the front door. Neither Marian nor Helen had any idea they were being watched.

Hidden on the roof of the house across the street, the one being sold, a solitary man watched the entire affair. Beside him, within an arm's reach was his H&K PSG-1 sniper rifle, and in front of him were a pair of binoculars and a camera.

Staff Sergeant Cooper MacBride, also called Low Light, watched the scene behind the red tint of his goggles. He photographed the two women talking on the porch of the house, next door to the Halliwell Manor of all places. _What do you know, maybe Ted can go find something else out about these neighbors when he goes to see Paige next time. _Low Light thought.

The two women were an unlikely pair. One was in her forties, with short brown hair, with a baby in her arms and the other was younger, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. They didn't look related, but then again both of them were brunettes. The older of the pair looked similar to the woman the Misfits reported to have stretched herself far enough to punch adversaries across the room.

_Hey, I live with teenagers that can make earthquakes, alter probabilities and make themselves invisible. What's a forty-year old woman who can give reach out and touch someone a new meaning? _Low Light thought. He took more photographs, hopefully intelligence back at the Pit would be able to identify them.

* * *

"Hey Jana, what's up?" Phoebe asked her coworker as they went for some coffee in the break room of the Bay Mirror.

The red headed photographer smiled at the advice columnist, saying, "Nothing really."

"How is everything with Marcus?" Phoebe asked.

"OK, except he got called away this morning." Jana replied, "The third time this week."

"You think he's hiding something?" Phoebe asked.

"I know this is silly, but I kept imagining he was racing home to a wife and kids, or another woman or…" Jana replied.

"Jana," Phoebe replied, "We've been over this before. I did look him up, and there is in fact a Marcus Culp who works as a surveyor for San Francisco County. He's not a married guy after a quick lay."

"I know, it's probably just me getting jealous." Jana replied.

"He just had work to do," Phoebe replied, "And he doesn't sound like the kind of guy who'd ditch you over work."

"He does come back earlier than expected when he has to leave early in the morning quite often." Jana replied, "I just hope he'll be able to make it to the Giants game this weekend."

"How are you going to explain baseball to a guy from South Africa?" Phoebe asked.

"It's certainly nothing I'm used to with dates, but he's willing to listen and I'm willing to give it a try." Jana replied.

"Then you've got nothing to worry about." Phoebe smiled as she headed back to her office.

* * *

"Idiot…Moron…Nincompoop…" Bob grumbled as he punched away at keys on his keyboard.

"Morning Bob," Paige said, as she walked into the room, "Wow somebody's not in a good mood."

"I was having a pleasant evening until some federal idiots decided to have a shootout with some lunatic named Zartan." Bob growled, as he sipped at some coffee.

"I hope you weren't calling Piper any of those names." Paige began.

"No, I was calling my idiot Australian real estate agent those names. When I see him again, I'm wringing his neck." Bob replied.

"It seems like you have anger issues." Paige replied, "But I can see why an encounter with the Misfits might ramp up your pulse a bit."

"A bit…" Bob replied, "Way to understate things."

"I guess you could say I'm kinda used to them." Paige replied.

"You're dating one of them, of course." Bob replied, "I can't tell what was worse, working with my hellish last boss or running into those madcap mutants at every turn."

"How was your last boss?" Paige asked.

"Bureaucratic, inane, petty, and a little worm. Those about cover it." Bob replied. _Still he didn't deserve to have the Russians just gun him down like vermin._

"You're gonna love our first case, Bob." Paige replied, "Apparently this landlord on Telegraph Hill keeps shutting off the heat for his tennents. There's an old lady that's in danger of getting pneumonia. She can't afford medical care for it, because she's on a fixed income…"

"Paige," Bob replied, "Say no more. Let me do the talking…"

They headed into the parking lot, where Paige reached for her keys to open up her Volkswagen Bug.

"You don't seriously expect me to ride in one of those things and be in a good mood, do you?" Bob asked.

"Of course not." Paige replied, "I was thinking we could go for a good-cop, bad-cop routine."

"And for me to really be the 'bad cop' a surly mood would help?" Bob asked, and a grin spread across his face, "I like the way you think…"

They stepped into the small car and headed almost all the way across town to the apartment where the complaint had originated.

Twenty minutes later: C.J., the landlord, was a fellow in his late twenties, with long sideburns brown, a goatee and mustache.

"Well, tough shit." C.J., the landlord began, "If she wants to live here, she's gonna have to put up with it."

"She's almost seventy, has no family to take care of her, and she certainly can't pay medical bills if she winds up with pneumonia." Paige argued.

"I have costs lady." C.J. replied, "And I have to cut corners somehow…"

C.J. took his feet off of the desk where he had propped them to squash a bug that skittered across the floor and went to move his desk. The broad doing most of the talking wasn't too bad looking and there wasn't a ring on her finger. Maybe he could make a move later, if he felt so inclined.

"Here, let me help you with that." Bob replied, and with one arm, effortlessly lifted C.J.'s desk off the ground and over his head like it was a paperweight.

C.J.'s eyes widened. _Holy fuck. That guy just lifted my desk like it weighed nothing._

"Now," Bob began, in an even and low voice, "About the heat and those costs…"

"I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement." C.J. said.

"Good…" Bob said, "See Paige, he can be reasonable."

Bob put C.J.'s desk down and the two of them walked out into the parking lot towards Paige's car.

* * *

"What did you want to see me about?" Marian replied.

"I just wanted to have lunch." Bluey replied, "My treat. After all it is ANZAC Day."

"You're too kind." Marian replied, smiling as she put her glass down, after sipping some water.

_Easy Truscott, don't reach across the table and take her hand in both of yours. She's your friend, remember…_Bluey thought. He couldn't help but stare at the slender ivory of her forearm as she lay it on the table.

_What's that look about, Bluey? I swear I can never figure you out entirely. _Marian thought. _Maybe he…No…You don't want to drive Bluey away, the way you drove away Steven. You don't want to hurt him like that. Can you ever go back if you make that leap from friends?_

Mercifully their food arrived. "Bluey, how you can stand some of those exceedingly spicy Thai recipes, I'll never be able to figure out." Marian replied.

"You don't know what you're missing." Bluey replied.

"I know what I'm missing. Severely scalded innards." Marian replied, "I don't want to think about your blood pressure right now."

"You're starting to sound like my mum." Bluey replied.

"I hope you don't think of me as a mum…" Marian replied.

"I don't." Bluey replied.

Marian felt something pat against her right leg, and she glanced down to see a card and a paperback book in Bluey's hand. "I found this one going through Borders. I thought you'd appreciate it. I know you're fond of Jane Austen…"

A smile lit up Marian's pale Scottish complexion and Bluey felt his own heart warm. _That smile of yours is one of your most endearing traits. _Memories of Nigeria began to melt away. How much he wanted to take her in his arms, share that first of passionate kisses.

Bluey watched as rays of sunlight filtered in through the window, as the early spring sun warmed San Francisco.

"What happened to you out there, Bluey?" Marian asked, concern in her eyes, "I know that you changed after you came back from Nigeria."

"Have you ever seen what happens when people can't tolerate their neighbors?" Bluey asked.

"I can imagine." Marian replied, "I did see the newscasts…"

"They don't begin to cover it. I saw the refugees in Cameroon, while we were training the Ibo to fight against Yakubu and his nutcase lot." Bluey replied.

"But you'd been to combat zones before." Marian replied.

"It was raining that night…" Bluey began.

_Bluey Truscott knotted the headband behind his head, and added some more camouflaged face paint. Behind him the rest of Recon Team Oakland followed, doing last minute checks on webbing, magazine pouches and weapons. Behind them followed a Hatchet Force Company, another eighty men. The goal wasn't reconnaissance this time. The goal was to raid a target, and the Recon Team was leading the Hatchet Force Company, composed of seventy-one Ibo irregulars and nine ACME paramilitaries. _

_The Recon Team had found one of Yakubu's interrogation and detention centers on one mission. And after a second trip, where they scouted the defenses, it was decided to use a Hatchet Force Company to raid the facility and free the prisoners. The Cactus Air Force would then fly into a designated landing zone, where the Hatchet Force men would load the prisoners aboard, and stall Fulani attackers long enough for the evacuation to take place. _

_As soon as the Hatchet Force was deployed, it's three platoons surrounding three sides of the camp, a wall of killing energy just waiting to be released. The weapon's platoon was covering the main road into the camp with its M-60 machineguns and M79 grenade launchers. _

_As soon as the prearranged time came about, the night sky was lit up with tracers as the guard towers were peppered with machinegun fire and the bunkers saturated with grenades. Quickly, several Ibo with wire cutters cut holes through the fences and poured into the compound. _

_Bluey Truscott charged forward, prying open the hatch of a bunker, after pulling a white phosphorous grenade from his webbing and pulling the pin free. One…two…THROW. Bluey flung the grenade inside. The grenade was designed to cause fires that were impossible to put out, even with water, and he could hear the screams of three Fulani soldiers as the burning metal clung to their clothing and skin. He pointed his CAR-15 into the bunker and squeezed off a short burst. The screaming stopped. _

_He followed Jan Shimoda as the latter kicked a door down, covering the room with his weapon as two more Ibo soldiers followed him. A Fulani guard raised his AK-47, only to be practically shredded by Shimoda's weapon on full auto. _

_Truscott kicked in one rotted wooden door and saw an Ibo man in his late teens curled up in a ball in the corner. His skin sported numerous angry welts where Fulani torturers had touched him with lit cigarettes, and scars crisscrossed his back. _

"_Come on, we're here to help you…" Bluey began, calmly, as he reached for the prisoner._

"_I can't…" the prisoner said, feebly._

"_I won't hurt you." Bluey began, reaching for the prisoner, lifting him over his shoulders before taking him to the collection point where first platoon had formed a perimeter. _

_The Ibo irregulars were moving through the compound efficiently, a testament to the SOG men's training. In pairs and small groups they flung grenades into rooms, and swiftly entered, dispatching Fulani guards and pulling prisoners from their cells. _

_Malawi hacked at a rusty padlock on the ground, pulling up a bamboo grate and a feeble looking woman inside it. He half dragged her to the collection point as the first of the helicopters appeared over the hillside. _

_Shimoda and Truscott raced behind one of the outbuildings. A shallow pit, recently covered over with dirt, failed to hide an atrocity. Arms, legs, and part of a face were visible. **The poor bastards**. Truscott thought. _

Marian looked on with fascinated horror as Bluey continued his story. She had read the after action reports, seen the pictures of the victims, the half starved survivors, the pits where the executed had been unceremoniously dumped. But nothing compared to hearing it from one of the SOG raiders who freed nearly two hundred and fifty survivors. But for nearly three hundred people, they had arrived too late.

"The only reason they wanted us to raid the place was because three white Christian missionaries had gotten arrested and imprisoned there." Bluey replied, "We could've hit the place any time, saved more of those people, but HQ sat on their asses while people died."

"Not everyone in the Counter Terror Service felt that way, Bluey." Marian replied, "A lot of us wanted to take a more active role in toppling Yakubu, but we kept getting overruled."

"I don't blame you, Marian." Bluey replied, "I couldn't. I blame the blokes that denied our plans."

"I'm sorry things had to turn out that way Bluey." Marian replied, feeling nauseated that the policymakers had credible reports from the SOG men about what was happening in that prison and didn't act on that intelligence until it had been operating for almost a month.

"It's alright." Bluey replied, "We saved what we could."

"I'd better be going." Marian replied, after Bluey had paid the check. She wrapped her arms around him, and Bluey returned the hug.

Bluey remembered what happened next when he and Shimoda kicked down another door.

_The Fulani guard's trousers were literally around his ankles. His female victim vainly covered herself with the torn remnant of her blanket and dress in the corner. "Surrender! Surrender!" The Fulani shouted, throwing his arms into the air._

_Bluey Truscott aimed his CAR-15 at the man and squeezed off a single round into his forehead, as Jan Shimoda ran over to help the rape victim. He stood over the cooling body of the dead rapist, before running back into the hallway…_

* * *

Naval Spetsnaz Detachment 2-F-50 had come ashore, some by large rubber boats, others by swimming in dry suits with aqualungs, masks, and fins. The group promptly secured its headquarters in an abandoned rock quarry, stowing its equipment and heavier weapons and set up its positions.

"Comrade Major." Nikolai began, "All equipment and weapons are ashore. I have already sent detachments to reconnoiter the beaches in both directions and to conceal any trace of our landing."

In the background, the specially trained Soviet sailors were setting up communication equipment, mines and booby traps, and posting sentries armed with silenced AKMS-47 rifles to quietly dispatch anyone or anything that approached the encampment.

Portable lights, stowed their by the agent, an unemployed prospector bribed by the GRU were already running deeper inside the shaft.

"Reconnaissance teams?" Major Ivanovich asked.

"I already dispatched them to our target facilities." Nikolai replied.

"Disposal?" Ivanovich asked.

"The liquidation team has already dealt with Mr. Alder." Nikolai replied, referring to the **agent**, whose lifestyle had been funded almost entirely by payments in cash from the GRU.

"Good. Insure his body is never discovered." Ivanovich asked.

"Already taken care of, Comrade Major." Nikolai replied. Two more sailors were carrying what was unmistakably a corpse wrapped in a canvas tarp, while two others moved beams and debris away from a particularly deep shaft in the mine. The two impromptu pallbearers flung the corpse into the shaft without ceremony.

"Good." Ivanovich replied, "The Coast watcher stations, power relays, and communications nodes are to be attacked immediately."

Nikolai grabbed his helmet and his AK-74 and said, "Yes Comrade Major…"

* * *

Several hours later:

Lucius had intended to call the hospital and ask how the Rydingers were holding up, and if there was anything else he could do for them. He picked up the phone, and got nothing except for a hiss of static.

"Honey," Lucius shouted from the kitchen, "How long have the phones been out?"

"Since about an hour ago." Honey replied from the bedroom.

Lucius turned the television on, to see what was on the news.

"This just in." the newscaster began, "Random telephone and internet outages have been occurring around Metroville. Utility companies are currently addressing the problem but say it could be several hours before phone service will be restored."

"In other news, a Velocipod accident was reported by troops stationed near Watcher's Woods." The newscaster began.

Honey had walked into the room just then, after hearing about the phone outages.

"What if there's a connection between all these accidents?" Honey began, having been a Special Agent for the Metroville FBI had made her deductive abilities sharp.

"What do you mean?" Lucius asked. Ever since the Huph homicide, Lucius began to feel like something was wrong, but he couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"These attacks have a pattern." Honey began, "First there was that Polish tanker that exploded, and caused that fire that closed West Port down for three months. Then there was that incident where that derelict yacht exploded. Next the Union Carbide Chemical Plant caught fire after an explosion in one of the labs. Then my contacts still in the Bureau say that there have been murders, carried out with modern Eastern bloc assault weapons all over the place, including Gilbert Huph's."

"I don't follow you." Lucius asked.

"Don't you see?" Honey began, "Syndrome stirred up a hornet's nest, provoking the Soviet Union into a war."

"We don't know if the Russians are behind all this yet." Lucius replied, "The yacht that blew up was a Norwegian…"

"False flagging, Lucius." Honey began, "The Russians bought the yacht, created a fake paper trail, and used it for some covert purpose."

"What?" Lucius asked, "They bought a boat and used it for a floating bomb?"

"No, I doubt that." Honey replied, "Erin, my contact, said the yacht can hold about twenty-two people aboard it. My guess is they threw on aqualungs after they booby trapped the boat, and swam ashore. There could be hundreds of Soviet _spetsnaz _troops in Metroville by now, if not thousands."

"I don't see where you're getting all this evidence," Lucius began, "But I've learned after twelve years of marriage not to distrust anything you bring up out of hand. What makes you think the Soviets are behind all this?"

"For one, their _spetsnaz _formations specialize in this kind of behind the lines work." Honey replied, "Secondly, one of our agents in Moscow was just arrested and likely shot by the KGB. We have to do something."

"You mean warn Syndrome about the approach of the Russians?" Lucius began, "After he killed so many Supers. I don't think so."

"Lucius, think of the greater good. Syndrome and his cronies won't be the only ones affected by this." Honey thought, "Think about all those innocents that will be caught unaware when Russian tanks start coming across the plains or when Russian paratroopers start dropping into our territory."

"So you want us to work with Syndrome?" Lucius replied.

"Just to warn the people to get out of the war zones. You don't have to give him complete intelligence on how to defeat the Russians." Honey replied.

"I'll see what I can do." Lucius replied, as he headed for the hidden compartment where he kept his Super Suit.

"Don't engage the Russians," Honey replied, "Whatever you do. Just observe them, and drop off the intelligence. Be careful."

"I always am, Honey." Lucius replied as he put the suit on as he prepared to go track down the Russians, wherever they were hiding.

* * *

**TBC**

**Agent – **Spies recruited from a target country by case officers. In the case of Mr. Alder, he was recruited by a GRU case officer to construct the base for Detachment 2-F-50 and then executed to prevent his ever betraying the group's position.

**ANZAC Day – **On the 25th of April, this day is set aside in both Australia and New Zealand to commemorate the bravery of the ANZACS (Australia New Zealand Army Corps) who fought courageously in the two World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, and most recently Afghanistan and Iraq.

**Swagman - **A gentleman of the road, an itinerant roaming country roads, a drifter, a tramp, a hobo. Carried his few belongings slung in a cloth, which was called by a wide variety of names, including 'swag', 'shiralee' and 'bluey'. Given the large number of names for them, they must have been a pretty common sight.


	7. Rise of the Red Menace

Rise of the Red Menace

Disclaimer: Same as before.

* * *

Dan Rydinger knew what he had to do. He watched as his mother and Kayla lay asleep on the couch adjacent to the ICU. Tony was doing his homework, or trying to concentrate. His father's condition hadn't changed at all in the past day.

He was eighteen, a student of Metroville Community College, he could do it. He knew they would all object to what was on his mind. He composed the hardest letter he would ever write in his life, and left it on the coffee table.

Dan approached his father's bedside and said, "Dad, if you can hear me, I just want you to forgive me for what I'm about to do."

The EKG beeped steadily as the life support machines that breathed for Jim Rydinger hummed to keep him living.

"I know we've butted heads about this before. I know you don't believe in Syndrome's government, and I don't believe in him either. But we just can't stay out of the war. What happened to you is proof of that. It's involving all of Metroville…" Dan began, "I don't want what happened to you to happen to Mom, or Tony, or God forbid Kayla. So I'm joining Syndrome's Army, to protect you all."

Dan squeezed his father's hand as he walked out of the ICU. Tony saw him leave, holding Dan's letter in his right hand.

"So you're just gonna leave us?" Tony asked his older brother.

"Tony, you saw what happened to Dad." Dan replied, "I'll die before I let anything like that happen to any of you."

Tears appeared in the younger boy's eyes, "Dan, I won't stop you, or wake mom, or anything. But please be careful out there."

"I'll do my best." Dan replied, hugging his younger brother and walking down the stairs. As he walked, he couldn't help but imagine that tonight was the last time he would ever see his family.

He headed across the street to a recruiting office. A grim looking sergeant handed him some forms which he filled out. Within six hours he would be on a bus with many other young men like himself to the Oldenborough Training Station, nearly eighty miles north of home.

* * *

Lucius Best examined the scene from line of fire level. Lying face down to his right was a security guard, a portly rent-a-cop whose job had been keeping an eye on the power station. He noticed that the back of the man's skull bore an impact, as though an axe of some kind had been used to kill instead of a bullet.

He continued to a wooden guard shack and saw the guard's partner, who was holding a phone handset clutched in dead hands. His torso and head were riddled with bullet holes, probably coming from a silenced AK-47 if the casings underneath Frozone's feet were any indication. The Russians had obviously been here.

He could smell the aroma of smoke, the kind from an electrical fire, mixed with the smell of burned rubber insulation. Frozone continued past the front gate and through a smashed down door. He passed the body of another security guard, who obviously had time to fire a couple rounds from his shotgun before being riddled with several bullets from a few assault rifles firing on full automatic.

It definitely looked like a _spetsnaz _strike team had hit this place hard and fast, as evidenced by the circuit breakers and control panels that had grenades flung into them. He saw the corpses of two unfortunate technicians that happened to be in the room when the Russians flung the grenades inside.

"_Davai!" _a command echoed from a catwalk above his head.

Frozone ducked out of site. The Russians were still here and were obviously leaving, as he heard the sound of heavy paratrooper boots against the steel of the catwalk. He followed, running noiselessly up the concrete stairs, past the dead security guard, following the Russians as closely as he dared. There were about a dozen commandoes in ski masks, or wearing black watch caps with darkened faces running, occasionally turning to see if they were being followed.

* * *

Helen walked onto the porch, a cup of tea in one hand and a sleepy Jack Jack in the other. The laundry was turning in the machine, she had already done the vacuuming and it really was a beautiful spring day outside.

The woman next door walked out onto her porch to water her plants and waved. Helen waved back and the woman put the watering can and walked towards Helen's porch.

"How did dinner go at Quake?" Piper asked.

"It was OK." Helen replied, diplomatically. _Until the psychotic disguise artist, this Zartan character, turned up._

"Are you sure?" Piper asked, "I do read the newspaper you know. And I know that there was a big fight there."

"Lets just say it was a good dinner until the Misfits showed up." Helen replied.

Piper rolled her eyes, "Believe me, I feel your pain. They're…"

At that moment a blond haired fellow built like an ex-football player came running down the street. "HELP!" he shouted.

Chasing after him were five men dressed like 18th Century pirates. "AR HAR HAR HAR!" they shouted as they waved their cutlasses.

"It's time to play pin the tail on the landlubber! AR HA HA HA HAR!" one of them shouted.

"Oh great, they're at it again." Piper groaned.

"Who? You know those maniacs?" Helen asked.

"Yes." Piper replied, "And those maniacs are friends of the Misfits. They're a bunch of lunatic pirate wannabes near as I can tell."

Piper felt bad for not telling Helen the truth. She seemed like a nice enough lady. _How is a housewife going to handle the fact that they aren't wannabe pirates, but actual pirates whose world was destroyed by the Heartless and whose leader managed to lead them to our world and safety with the Misfits? I don't think she can handle that does of truth…_

Helen thought to herself as well. _Pirate wannabes running loose? Crazy mutants? And not to mention someone named Zartan? I'd better ask Marian about all of this. Meanwhile, as soon as Bob gets home we're having a family conference. It looks like we've got some hero work to do in this town…_

* * *

"How was lunch?" Jan Shimoda asked, as he opened the passenger black side door of the 2006 Dodge Ram 1500 with the markings of a local surveying company on it.

"Delicious." Bluey replied, as he climbed in. He had just walked Marian to a waiting car that would take her back to ACME HQ about five minutes ago.

"I was talking about the company." Shimoda replied.

"Will you knock it off, mate?" Bluey replied, "I doubt you drove over here to give me a slaggering about my love life."

"As much as I would enjoy bugging you about it until the cows came home, there's a slightly more pressing matter at hand." Jan replied.

"What's that?" Bluey replied.

"Word on the street is that this world may have more awareness of other worlds and the Heartless than we realize." Jan replied.

"Marian didn't tell me anything about it." Bluey replied.

"This is only recent news. The bugs we planted at the Parr residence before they moved in picked this up." Jan replied.

"Right. We'd better brief Marian and Aron on this." Bluey replied, "What about Purvis and Papa Louie?"

"Papa Louie sent me to fetch you. Purvis is tracking the Pirates with Sprocket. Aron's acting as backup." Jan replied.

"Something tells me he's not going to be too happy about missing this particular lunchtime meeting." Bluey replied, as Jan backed the truck out of the parking space.

"She'll forgive him." Jan replied, "But on a personal note, what do you think?"

"About what?" Bluey replied.

"You know what I mean. He never even told her the truth about what he really does for a living." Jan replied, "He probably never told her his real name."

"It's not exactly easy to tell loved ones even a tenth of what we really do." Bluey replied.

"Some of us make it work." Jan replied, "Is that why you don't want to follow things through with Marian? You know if you apply a bit of effort, you two could make it work."

"Perhaps. But the odds are slim of affairs working out." Bluey replied, "Paramilitary work on my side, and a case officer's load on her side doesn't make family life all that easy."

"Bollocks, to use your own words." Jan replied, "Look at Bruce and Rebecca back in Edinburgh."

"Look, mate, Bruce is an analyst, and Rebecca's an engineer. Not exactly paramilitary blokes." Bluey replied.

"I'm still saying, that life in ACME doesn't automatically disqualify you from married life. You'll never know if you don't try." Jan replied.

"And if I ruin a friendship I've had since childhood? It's a bad risk." Bluey replied.

"Considering you've had a thing for Marian since puberty, I doubt friendship is what's holding you back." Jan replied, "What happened to you out there? You haven't been the same since Nigeria?"

"You were there, Jan." Bluey replied, "You know damn well what we went through."

"Yeah. Sometimes I wish I could forget everything we saw there too." Jan replied, "Having someone you love help you thorough things like that helps. Even if they can't know exactly what it is that bothers you."

"For fuck's sake, how's Marian going to react to the fact that I shot a surrendering man through the head." Bluey snapped.

"Considering we caught him raping that poor woman, I'm sure she'd understand." Jan replied.

* * *

Honey did not sit idly by as Lucius went out to trail the Russians. Her friend Erin had just phoned her with some disturbing news. What looked like several formations of Soviet armor and infantry were hours away from the border with Metroville. They had been within striking distance for months, and Metroville's defense force had been alerted. The Soviets claimed that it was in response to Syndrome's takeover of the government, and then claimed the force remained there on maneuvers.

Now, Erin's latest report was that there were rumors that the Bulgarians, East Germans, Poles, and Czechs were massing along the border as well. All that manpower and equipment was clearly for one reason: invasion. But when?

She thanked God she'd charged her laptop battery, because she was looking through archived articles since Syndrome's takeover. The Union Carbide fire was definitely no accident, now that she looked at it. The Soviets probably sabotaged the facility and rigged the fuel supplies and generator with demolition charges that carried incendiary devices.

Huph being killed was just one in a string of inexplicable deaths of Metroville's higher ranking citizens. Recently, the mayor of Westport's limousine had exploded. From what Erin had said, it looked like the Russians shot it with an anti-tank missile of some kind. The final blow of this covert operation was due to happen, but when?

Her cell phone rang just then and Honey answered, "Hello?"

"Honey, it's me." Lucius said, "I've found a team of them, I'm going to follow."

"Be careful." Honey began, hiding her fear. From what she knew of the _spetsnaz_ units, they invariably left no witnesses to their assaults.

* * *

Nikolai Vatunin returned to the abandoned mine with his team, unaware that Frozone was following them. He entered a frenzy of activity. The Naval _spetsnaz _Detachment 2-F-50 to a man was engaged in preparing weapons, reloading magazines, dozing sailors were being kicked awake by NCOs.

"What's happening, Comrade Major?" Nikolai asked.

The radioman approached the two officers just then and handed a message to Major Ivanovich. "Take your element and attack the Omnidroid launching facility."

"Yes Comrade Major." Nikolai replied. He turned to one of his NCOs and said, "Tell the men to refit, maximize ammunition and grenades and meet me here in five minutes."

"Yes Comrade Lieutenant." The NCO said.

Nikolai watched as a fifteen man detachment left the mine. Junior Lieutenant Yemelyan, a good friend of his from his pre-service days nodded. Nikolai returned the nod. No words were exchanged. What a man did not know he could not spill in capture. Nikolai knew one thing and that the last grenade was for himself, there was no way in hell he was going to be a captive.

As he watched the team depart his own troops began to file in, until all twenty of them were sitting on helmets or stones, or crouched around him.

"Alright. Our objective is the destruction of the Omnidroid launching facility 16km east of us on the coastline." Nikolai began, "Our primary target is the command and control facilities. Secondary targets include the solid fuel depot itself and the base power grid. We will take the command and control bunker first, and hold it."

Nikolai drew a crude map of the facility on the dirt floor of the mine. It was a hexagonal compound, with a launching silo on each corner, containing a single Omnidroid. "The base defenses include roaming watches around the perimeter, assisted by dogs and there is a company of shock troops based in the town of Hovel down Highway 2 along the coast."

Fifteen against one hundred and fifty shock troops that would certainly come screaming down the highway to rescue the facility guards looked like long odds. But Nikolai knew that the guards were likely bored, tired conscripts, walking routine patrols with their hoods drawn tightly. The weather was on the side of the _spetsnaz _for this operation.

The velocipods relied on for longer range patrol duty were also grounded for this operation, and Nikolai knew that air warning for the defenders of the Omnidroid base was nonexistent.

He could tell the men thought this was a suicide mission, judging by the grim expressions on their faces. He knew they would go, because they were _spetsnaz_, men who believed in a triple credo, "Don't fear. Don't beg. Don't trust."

Meanwhile, Lucius Best trailed the first detachment he had seen leave the entrance of the abandoned mine. Thanks to following the Soviet detachment he had avoided encountering the worst of the booby traps and perimeter defenses and alarms they had around the area. The Russians clearly had come prepared. Not only were perimeter listening posts manned with alert guards, but mines of varying sorts were in place. Even with his precautions, he nearly avoided tripping a Bouncing Betty mine that would have popped up from the ground before it blasted him in half.

_Must be getting old. _Lucius thought. He watched the other detachment go, following it as closely as he dared. They were heading towards the coast, he realized, and from what he remembered of maps of the area there was a radar early warning post in that direction.

He quickened his pace; he had to warn the soldiers at the facility that the Soviets were coming. He realized, then, that he could do no such thing. He could easily compromise his position by moving, alerting the Russians to his presence.

_Syndrome's no friend of yours. He killed so many Supers, he nearly killed Bob. Why do you care about the fact that one of his radar stations is about to be hit hard by the Russians? _Lucius thought, as he raced through the dark woods.

_Those young men of Metroville that joined his armed forces might be confused and mixed up, but they don't deserve to be simply gunned down. _Lucius rationalized as he raced after the Soviet detachment.

* * *

ACME HQ, Edinburgh: Bruce and Thud were working frantically decoding a message from one of their automated listening post, hidden in a buoy off of Metroville's coastline. Things were going to hell in a hand basket quickly over there. The murders of important officials, the destruction of numerous power nodes, attacks on military facilities, and now several radar stations and command and control nodes were being attacked. At least three in the past hour were disabled, all of them near Omnidroid facilities.

Thud was working at decoding Soviet radio transmissions, and sipped his fifth cup of tea in as many hours. Both he and Bruce together with three other ACME cryptographers and intelligence interpreters had shut themselves in the Bubble forty eight hours ago.

Bruce walked over for some more tea. He had slept scarcely three hours in two days, interpreting the messages Thud and his guys were frantically decoding. He stank of dried sweat, he itched between the shoulder blades, he missed Rebecca, whom he'd watched leave the building to go home twice, stopping to wave at him.

He looked through the messages again. Most of them were single words, and strings of numbers, and they coincided with different attacks. For instance, the one that had been sent hours before Gilbert Huph and his driver were gunned down on a highway in Metroville was a string of "3131313131".

He guessed straightaway those were code words to commence operations all over Metroville. There were other messages that looked like routine dispatches.

"Damn Soviet codes aren't the problem. It's Syndrome's codes that take forever to break." Thud grumbled, as he read at another pile of unencrypted documents, "It takes me about an hour to decode Soviet transmissions, but it takes twice as long to decode Syndrome's messages."

"But there's one Soviet transmission I can't figure out just yet." Thud cotinued, "It's a single word 'Decapitation' and that's all."

"Get some sleep, mate." Bruce said.

"I'd say the same of you." Thud replied, "You look like death."

"Look in the bloody mirror." Bruce replied.

"We've got these transmissions to decode." Thud replied.

"And we're also human." Bruce replied, "We've slept a grand total of three hours, in bursts about twenty minutes or so."

"There was that forty minute spurt you got." Thud replied.

"Look, we should get some rest." Bruce replied, "Before we burn out entirely."

"I know. I just know that something bad is going to happen, especially with the Russians involved." Thud replied.

* * *

"We just lost two Omnidroid launch sites, several radar early warning sites are also disabled." Mirage began. The man she reported to turned.

He was clearly a red haired man, for what was left of his hair stood in a red shock. One of his eyes was blue, but the other eye was a red electro-optic orb set into a cybernetic half a face. His left arm from the elbow down was entirely mechanical, as were both of his legs. He wore a blue cape, white boots, and a black suit with a large white 'S' on his chest.

"Things are proceeding according to planned then?" Syndrome began.

Mirage replied, "Yes."

"Spread word about possible Soviet germ warfare plans and begin inoculation immediately." Syndrome began.

"That will take some time." Mirage replied.

"We don't need to inoculate everybody." Syndrome replied, "Just those closest to the coastline and the border areas."

"Are you sure you want to release the Heartless right now, my love." Mirage began.

"War is the perfect sowing ground for despair, anger and pain." Syndrome replied, "And the Serum should make the transformations go that much faster, especially in the face of the Soviet offensive. See to it that the 'vaccine' is distributed immediately."

A warning appeared on a screen behind Syndrome. "It appears that one of our television broadcast stations has been compromised." Syndrome began, "No doubt…"

"People of Metroville…." Syndrome's voice could be heard, "As you no doubt heard, there have been attempts to assassinate me and my top officials for months. All military units are to remain in their positions and take no orders from senior officers, because they are traitors who will soon be removed from their posts."

"Soon." Mirage said, "The Soviets and the Warsaw Pact are going to come crashing across the border…"

"All is going according to planned, then." Syndrome replied, "I must say, the Russian imposters who made the tape are definitely top notch. And the actor who played me was flawless."

"I take it you knew that _spetsnaz _forces took over the Central Broadcasting Channel twenty minutes ago?" Mirage asked.

"No. But certainly the **GRU** did its homework on me, and they certainly doing a credible job of sowing panic into the population. Time for the virus scare broadcast, get me on the air in ten minutes…" Syndrome replied.

* * *

Lucius returned to his home, a distraught man. "Honey…" Lucius began.

"Things have gotten worse." Honey finished.

"How did you know?" Lucius asked, in the hours that he had been gone; electricity had been restored to his quarter of the city.

Honey turned the television on, and Syndrome's broadcasted voice echoed. Almost after the televised appearance, nothing but static could be seen on the television screen.

The phone rang just then and Honey answered, "Erin? What's going on?"

"Did you see the broadcast?" Erin Grant, Honey's old colleague from her days with the Metroville **Federal Investigative Organization (FIO),** asked.

"Yes, I just saw it." Honey replied, "The one where Syndrome accuses the military commanders of being traitors."

Erin, usually collected and the voice of reason, sounded extremely spooked, "That's why three of Syndrome's soldiers just dragged Director Womack out of his office less than an hour ago."

Honey blanched. Sure she might have had her differences with the misogynistic old toad that ran the FIO but for him to be dragged out of his office for questioning, possibly never to be seen again…

"He just kept yelling he was innocent and that it was all some GRU scheme." Erin replied.

"Framing people and deception operations are things the Soviets excel at, so I think there's some merit to his ranting." Honey replied.

"But what if Womack was a traitor? Like the broadcast implied." Erin asked.

"I don't know." Honey replied, "But honestly, I don't know what to believe anymore right now, regarding the TV and radio."

"The TV in our part of the city just went dead. It seems like all the channels stopped transmitting." Erin replied, "Listen, Honey, I need to get back into the office. Everyone's in an uproar about fifth columnists, Soviet infiltrators and everything else."

"Be careful out there, girl." Honey replied.

Special Agent Erin Grant hung up her cell phone, and stuffed it in the pocket of her jacket. As she walked out of the alley where she'd made the call from, she felt something brush against the side of her head, very lightly. She turned around, thinking some bum had decided to grasp a lock of her hair and froze.

Sticking out of the dumpster was a human forearm. Erin climbed on top of a wooden crate next to the dumpster and peeked inside. There were three corpses, all of them having been dead at most two hours ago. They were the bodies of three men stripped to their underwear, each of them having been executed by being shot in the head at close range.

_Three soldiers dragged Womack off. Three dead bodies in the dumpster. _Erin thought. _There's no coincidence here! The troops that took Womack weren't Syndrome's men, they were probably spetsnaz troopers who captured this patrol, took their uniforms and then executed the patrol members…_

Erin ran inside the building, hoping she could save Womack, but she felt an ice cold stab of dread. Her instincts were telling her Womack was very likely already dead shortly after falling into Soviet hands.

* * *

"Soyuz nerushimy respublik svobodnykh. Splotila naveki velikaya Rus'! Da zdravstvuyet sozdanny voley narodov. Yediny, moguchy Sovetsky Soyuz!" The Radio Moscow broadcast just before dawn played the Hymn of the Soviet Union.

Captain Anatoly Shumilov, quietly sung the lyrics of the patriotic song of the **Rodina **while in the background the multi-barreled 9K51 Grad mobile artillery vehicles of his battery launched 122mm rockets into positions occupied by Metroville Defense Forces. The whooshes of flying rockets were complimented by the blasts of the 'God of War', the General Voronov's heavy artillery. Howitzers and field guns located further to the rear added their shells to the barrage and overhead MiG-27 and Sukhoi Su-25 fighter bombers began their assaults on positions further to the rear.

He continued to sing to the long life of the Soviet Motherland as he watched the tanks coming in behind the barrage of the artillery.

"Slavsya, Otechestvo nashe svobodnoye, Druzhby narodov nadyozhny oplot, Partiya Lenina — sila narodnaya. Nas k torzhestvu kommunizma vedyot!" In the back of his mind, Shumilov thought ironically that he was conducting his own orchestra, but an orchestra of destruction to the enemies of the Soviet Union.

The BMP armored personnel carriers followed in close stead, as elements of the 203rd Motorized Infantry Regiment followed behind the tanks as they crossed the border into Metroville. It was a grand display of Soviet military might, for this Second Great Patriotic War.

Shumilov barked a command to the radioman, to inform the battery to advance as well. The barrage had lifted and the vehicles began their inexorable advance across the border. Already things were shaping out to be a success. He watched as two Motorized Infantrymen led a half a dozen prisoners, dazed looking with glassy eyes and blood pouring out of their noses, as if they'd suffered the after effects of major concussive blasts brought about by the heavy artilery.

The battery advanced to its intended position as Shumilov gave his orders to deploy security and make ready for the next call for fire. The town of Bordertown was now a heap of ruins from the artillery barrage only hours before, and the few Motorized Infantry elements still in the area were carrying out 'mop up' operations behind the lines.

Some more soldiers from a Motorized Infantry company were digging graves nearby, and tipping the bodies of fallen comrades inside. The advance couldn't stop, because there were **VDV **elements holding bridges and airfields ten to twenty kilometers inside enemy territory.

_Paratroopers. Crazy sons of bitches the lot of them. _Shumilov thought. _Jump from perfectly good aircraft behind enemy lines, fighting as light infantry with limited anti-armor defense. And Syndrome's forces are likely to be reinforcing the lines. I wouldn't want to be in the **VDV **for anything. _

Shumilov hadn't lived thirty-six years by being stupid. He knew that this war would be a hard fought campaign for the Soviet Union. He wanted to laugh at the political officers, the commissars, making their exhortations of ultimate victory for the Motherland. Ultimate victory would certainly come at a price for the Soviet Union, a price that could well be the lives of the young gunners readying their rocket artillery pieces for yet another barrage.

From his command vehicle's open hatch, Shumilov could hear the young soldiers jabbering on excitedly about the ease of their advance. The element of surprise was now lost, Shumilov knew, and the war would settle into a relative meat grinder of a conflict. He decided to let them keep their enthusiasm. They would learn in time the rigors of long campaigns.

Shumilov leaned against his PKM machinegun as he looked behind him to the east, as the sun rose blood red in the sky, red for the rise of the Red Menace…

* * *

TBC

AN – I'll explain why Mirage is back with Syndrome in future chapters.

**Federal Investigative Organization (FIO) – **Metroville's equivalent to the American FBI.

**GRU **– 'Main Intelligence Directorate'. Soviet Military Intelligence organization. Spetsnaz belongs to the GRU.

**Rodina** – Mother Russia, the Soviet Motherland.

**VDV – **Soviet Airborne Forces. They're paratroopers who act as light infantry behind the frontlines to capture airfields and bridges.


	8. San Francisco Supers

San Francisco Supers

Disclaimer: Same as before…

* * *

"Bob," Helen replied, as Bob came home from work, "There's something the whole family needs to discuss."

"Are we moving again?" Bob replied, "Yeah, I definitely want to tell Bluey Truscott he really goofed with this one."

"No, Bob, we aren't. This city has its share of problems." Helen began.

"One of them being the fault of a certain Australian who dropped us into this mess to begin with." Bob replied.

"It's in the newspaper, Bob." Helen replied, handing Bob the Bay Mirror.

"Hmm, Mutant Hostility Rising in San Francisco." Bob replied, "Preteen Beaten By Mutant Hating Gang..."

"Bob," Helen replied, "I'm saying that our help may well be needed in this city, regarding this 'Friends of Humanity' gang."

"Help, how?" Bob asked.

"Help of the Super variety, Dad." Violet began.

"Honey, you've seen just how ungrateful Normals can be." Bob said, "For years we protected Metroville, and what do they do, they retire us firstly. Then they don't stand up to Syndrome when he takes power. And now the Soviets are invading…"

"Bob." Helen replied, "I know you're frustrated, but we can't just abandon helping people. We can't abandon hero work."

"Helen…" Bob began.

"Those mutants that keep getting attacked around here by the Friends of Humanity are like us, Dad." Violet added.

"They have powers like we do." Dash added, "We have to help them."

Bob said, "Honey, kids, I understand where you're coming from, but this isn't our city. This…"

"Bob," Helen replied, "Like it or not, San Francisco is going to be our home for the foreseeable future…"

"We are going back to Metroville." Bob replied. _If the Soviets don't completely destroy it. God forbid they use tactical nukes…_

"That may be true; Bob, but San Francisco may just need us right now." Helen replied.

"Helen, I don't think San Francisco is going to support Supers nearly as well as Metroville used to, if the Friends of Humanity are any indication." Bob replied, "But, I did see a kid thrown out of his foster home because he was a mutant today. He was in pretty bad shape…"

"Bob?" Helen asked.

"We'll start patrolling for FOH scum tonight." Bob replied, "Kids, grab your Super Suits."

* * *

Anthony Carlyle hung his gray trench coat on the rack in his office as Bruce Underwood and Thud MacKinley followed him in with the intelligence report that they had awakened him on.

"Alright, what have you gentlemen found?" Carlyle asked.

"Based on satellite imagery and our automated listening posts, the border areas of Metroville fell within a few hours of the initial Soviet assaults." Thud began.

"This was largely due to the chaos and disruption the Soviets had carried out behind the lines beforehand." Bruce added, the Australian suppressed a yawn and scratched at three days of beard growth before continuing, "A presently unknown number of _spetsnaz _troopsmost likely members of the professional athletic services, were active behind the lines. The Union Carbide fire, the explosion of the Polish supertanker, numerous 'accidental' and 'inexplicable' deaths among senior officials all over Metroville was the work of the _spetsnaz_."

"There was a term 'Decapitation', in one of the radio transmissions we decoded. Almost immediately, large scale assaults occurred over Metroville." Thud replied, "We believe the Russians are trying to knock off the senior leadership of Metroville's defenses."

"FIO Director Womack was found dead in a drainage ditch three hours ago, according to Metroville communications data we downloaded." Bruce replied, "Recent communications interecepts have been spotty, due to Soviet air and ground assaults on communication facilities."

"How far have the Soviets advanced?" Carlyle asked.

"So far the Soviets have advanced seventy-eight kilometers past the borders, but since Metroville has mobilized its forces, the Soviets are meeting stronger resistance. The Metroville defenses are giving ground slowly, and causing immense casualties among the advancing Warsaw Pact units." Bruce replied.

"Syndrome seems to have a two front war on his hands." Thud continued, "He's got to contend with the frontline Soviet forces advancing steadily into Metroville, and he also has to deal with marauding _spetsnaz _detachments behind the lines stirring up trouble. Not to mention there are pockets of Soviet paratroopers dropped into Metroville the night before the assault began, holding key bridges and small towns to allow the tank and motorized infantry regiments to cross the rivers."

"One of the larger bridges is the Municberg Bridge, it's heavy enough to support T-72 main battle tanks. The Soviets definitely want to maintain control of it. So they've sent paratroopers into the area, reinforced by Mil Mi-24 gunships and VDV Air Mobile units." Bruce added.

"The paras secondary objective seem to be airfields and airports with intact runways and fuel sources to extend the reach of the Red Air Force's tactical air arm." Thud added, "Heavy fighting around the Municberg Airport has been reported."

* * *

Konstantin Korvachenko glanced around the corner of the concourse. Seventy-two hours ago, he had parachuted into Metroville with his stick. He wished the damned political commissar and his camera man would back the hell away. Half the Municberg International Airport was still in enemy hands even after three days of fighting.

Stacked outside on a wall were eight paratroopers, including Korvachenko himelf. Across from the entrance to the small shop kiosk were Yuri Marazov with his PKM light machinegun and Arkady Galinkov with his AK-74. Both men took grenades from their belts, pulled the pins and tossed them inside the shop.

"Davai! Davai!" shouted the sergeant in charge of the squad.

Instantly commands rushed to Korvachenko's feet as he rushed inside, the second man inside after Mikhail. Mikhail took a burst of gunfire that hit him in the legs from one of the surviving enemy soldiers, a half wounded man that had barely survived the grenades that killed two of his comrades.

Korvachenko acted entirely on instinct and squeezed the trigger of his AK-74, emptying almost half the thirty-round magazine into the enemy soldier who fell dead. From a hole in the ceiling, another Metroville soldier flung a grenade down at the advancing Russians. Korvachenko dived behind the cashier's counter before the grenade exploded. Mikhail wasn't so lucky, as he absorbed several of the fragments.

Yuri ran inside and fired a burst from his machinegun into the ceiling, practically obliterating the erstwhile attacker. "Room secure!" Yuri shouted.

"Hold on Mikhail." Korvachenko replied as he helped drag the wounded man from the room.

Explosions and bursts of gunfire together with screams and orders shouted filled the airport concourse. Down the concourse, alongside the now defunct airport belt ramp, lay two dead paratroopers, cut down in a counterattack from Metroville Defense Force troops. Behind Korvachenko three soldiers were working to smash into the maintenance tunnel through a wall with a sledge hammer.

Korvachenko loaded another magazine into his weapon after ejecting the mostly empty and sticking it down his camouflaged smock. He joined the squad, as they readied to go into the opened maintenance tunnel to try and take the hallway...

* * *

Darryl Morris sipped at his mug of coffee, his second one in as many days. He walked over to Officer Mike Kohl, one of the clerks for the San Francisco Police Department, who handed Darryl some reports.

Kohl began, "Word on the street is that some vigilantes in red costumes have been running around…"

"Is this connected to the Misfits by any chance?" Darryl asked, "Or Shipwreck1?"

As he spoke he could feel another headache coming on. "Not this time. But they were also sighted in the incident at Quake last week." Kohl replied.

"Next time I see Shipwreck, please call a unit to arrest me for murder." Darryl replied, "Those guys are responsible for more than their share of destruction around here2."

"You have to admit that the sight of that crazy bearded sailor beating up on the Friends of Humanity goons was hilarious." Kohl replied.

Darryl said, "Keep me posted on anything to do with these guys in the red suits."

"It sounds like a damn Christmas cartoon gone bad. Santa Claus, Mrs. Santa Claus, and two elves." Kohl remarked to himself, chuckling.

"Kohl, spare me the commentary." Darryl began.

"Yes sir." Kohl replied.

As soon as Lieutenant Morris was out of earshot, Kohl dialed a number on his cell phone with a text message.

An hour later, after his shift ended, Kohl was on a walk in Golden Gate Park where he met his contact.

Marian sat at a park bench as she waited for her contact. Mike Kohl was on ACME's payroll, specifically to report whatever police reports concerning the relocated Supers surfaced in the SFPD.

"What have you got for me?" Marian asked.

"Reports that Santa Claus has gone vigilante." Kohl replied, using the codename for Mr. Incredible.

_Trust Bluey Truscott to invent such a codename for Mr. Incredible._ Marian thought, and added, "How bad?"

"The whole family. Mrs. Claus has gotten into the act with two of three elves." Kohl replied.

_At least I'm in no danger of forgetting the codenames for this group of relocated Supers. _Marian thought. "What happened?"

"The Balletto beating3." Kohl replied, "The poor kid got beat up just because he was a mutant. Santa and his elves decided that was the last straw and went after the FOH thugs. Darryl booked them last night."

"Thank you for the information, Officer." Marian replied.

"I try." Kohl smiled.

In the truck with the survey logo on it, Bluey Truscott and Jan Shimoda were ready if anything were to go bad in Golden Gate Park, they would go in shooting. Underneath their light jackets were police vests bearing the ACME logo and their 9mm Sig Sauer handguns ready for use. Through a wire worn under Marian's blouse they could hear the entire transaction.

"Santa Claus? Brilliant." Shimoda grinned, "You know that if Mr. Incredible finds out you nicknamed him Santa Claus he's going to tear your head off and punt it through a field goal."

"I'm well aware of it." Bluey replied, "But the red costumes and the slightly rounder body shape are consistent with Santa Claus."

"Well he did lose the weight." Jan Shimoda replied.

"Well he did act rather snappy towards Marian when we first met him." Bluey replied, with a grin, "Call it an Australian sense of humor."

"I call it you being overprotective. Marian's a grown woman and she can take care of herself." Jan replied.

Marian walked over to the truck just then and knocked on the window. Bluey opened the door and moved to the middle seat. Marian lifted up her blouse, revealing the microphone hat was around her waistline.

"I know someone can't help but look." Marian remarked.

"It's certainly a rather lovely midsection. Who wouldn't resist staring?" Bluey replied.

_Shameless the way you flirt, Truscott. _Marian thought. _I know you since we grew up together, and still you're about the most mysterious person I know. What are you hiding from me? I can tell you feel something about me, but what? And why aren't you saying anything? _

Marian smiled and then turned towards Bluey, "It's confirmed, the Incredibles are carrying out hero work here in San Francisco."

"As if San Francisco needs any more super beings running around." Jan Shimoda replied, "Ever since the incident with the Misfits and X-men coming into the play two months ago4."

"Not to mention Zartan and his lot being active around here." Bluey replied.

"Either way, HQ is not going to be happy with the actions of the Incredibles." Marian replied, as they walked up the front steps of the SOG Safehouse, "I've got to make a phone call to Headquarters…"

"HQ's got other worries." Papa Louie said as he came down the steps, "Apparently the Soviets just invaded Metroville."

Marian's pale Scottish complexion went paler still, "Mercy Mother of God…"

"They didn't go nuclear." Papa Louie said, "However, the Russians committed a full third of their military might into the first wave alone."

"This conflict could easily escalate. Especially if Syndrome manages to launch an Omnidroid or two at the Soviet Union." Marian replied.

"Metroville could easily turn into a self lighting glass parking lot." Papa Louie replied.

"I'd best call HQ anyway." Marian replied.

"They'll probably tell you to handle the situation yourself." Papa Louie replied.

"I was afraid you'd say that." Marian replied as she walked inside to use the phone.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late. The County had me out on a longer project." Aron said, as he kissed Jana lightly on the lips. _Not really a lie. There was that surveillance operation that I was tactical backup for. _

Jana returned the kiss, "Marcus, it seems like they love doing that to you. You should tell them they have other surveyors and that you have a life of your own to attend to…"

Aron pulled Jana closer, "Believe me, love, I'd like nothing more. However, I guarantee we're still on for Saturday afternoon to watch the Giants."

"It will be an experience for you." Jana replied, smiling, her arms around his shoulders, "All those screaming fans. Watching the pitcher at the mound…"

"Not to mention a very lovely resident expert to coach a somewhat ignorant South African the rules of the game." Aron replied.

"It's simple. You catch the ball. You hit the ball, you run from base to base…" Jana replied, as they sat down on the couch in Jana's apartment. Aron wrapped an arm around her waist as she leaned her head against his chest.

Aron slid a hand down Jana's back, to the top of her skirt. "There's another very simple sport that I really am good at." Aron whispered into her ear.

"You are incorrigible." Jana replied, with a mock pout, "Especially when begging for cuddle time."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort." Aron replied.

"And what, honey…" Jana demurred, "Is this simple sport you're good at?"

"It's of the contact variety." Aron replied.

"It sounds dangerous." Jana replied, "With or without pads."

"A bit of protection might be required…" Aron replied as he planted another kiss on the bridge of her nose.

"And clothing is optional, I presume." Jana replied, fiddling with the top button of her blouse.

"Exactly." Aron replied, and, taking her hand, helped her to her feet as they embraced, kissed, and headed straight for Jana's bedroom.

Several hours later, Aron lay awake, watching Jana sleeping peacefully at his side. The blanket slid down her slender frame and he pulled it up to the underside of her chin. He was rewarded with a sleepy smile, and he smiled and kissed the nape of her neck.

He gazed down at her happy and sad at the same time. The life of an ACME Clandestine Service Officer was a damn lonely one, and being able to meet a woman he was definitely serious about committing to was a rare thing. _However, relationships are based on trust. And how can she trust you when she thinks your name is Marcus Culp and you work as a surveyor? Especially when your real name is Aron Munro and you're in Clandestine Services. _

He watched her sleep some more, curled up and lying on one side, her red hair flowing behind her on the white pillow. He could hear the rhythm of her breath and thought some more. _She's a smart woman. She's a journalist for Christ's sake. She'll put the pieces together somehow. And any day now she'll start asking questions. I've got to tell her the truth, but how?_

* * *

"Mutie slime!" The FOH member yelled as he kicked the teenager, who couldn't have been any older than fifteen, in the stomach.

"Please stop…" The kid begged.

"How do you like that? Filth begging to be saved." Kyle Gaines, one of the FOH members sneered, as he hefted the crowbar in his hands.

"I'm a person too…Please stop hitting me." The kid begged.

"I'm a person too? Nah, can't be." Billy, the other FOH member, replied.

"You wanna do it, or should I?" Kyle asked.

"Shit, let's both do the hit." Billy replied, hefting the baseball bat in his hands. He was about to swing the bat down when an arm snaked down the side of a building and grabbed the hand.

"What the…" Billy began.

Dash came by speedily and grabbed the crowbar out of Kyle's hands. "You little punk! What are you? A mutie?" Kyle shouted and pulled a gun from his belt.

Billy let go off the bat and slashed out at the hand with a knife. He glanced up to see a long arm, coming from two stories up. It was connected to a woman in a red suit of some kind with an 'I' on her chest.

"What the fuck…" Billy began. But by the time his shock had recovered he was grabbed by the neck and lifted into the air.

"Don't even think of hurting my wife, buddy." Mr. Incredible said, as he held the wiry FOH thug in the air.

"Fuck you!" Billy shouted, slashing at Mr. Incredible's wrist with the knife.

Mr. Incredible said nothing and simply bashed the thug into the wall, making him drop the knife. Meanwhile Violet checked on the kid that the two thugs had been beating up on. "We should get him to a hospital." Violet said.

"Get him stabilized first, kid." Bob began, "Like you learned."

Violet checked to see if the kid's spine was messed up in any way. She patched up the cuts as best she could before she certified him as safe to travel and put him on Dash's back.

"Get him ready to travel." Violet began.

Dash ran like the wind towards the nearest Emergency Room while his parents brought the FOH thugs to the nearest police station.

* * *

Cerebro. A machine of great power, especially when harnessed by a powerful telepath could detect any use of unusual abilities anywhere on planet Earth. As Charles Xavier and Erich Lensherr's project, it was an eye of unimaginable potency for the X-men.

Charles Xavier almost wept with exhaustion. For the past two weeks mutant signatures had been appearing all over San Francisco. Almost as suddenly half of them were either killed or disappeared, into the hands of whom he didn't want to imagine. The Hellfire Club? COBRA? Trask? Whoever these Heartless were?

It appeared the Friends of Humanity had established a very strong presence in San Francisco, many of these dead mutants were attributed to the Friend of Humanity. Xavier went to a phone to contact the Misfits, and then awakened the rest of the X-men. This was something that concerned all mutants

Cerebro beeped yet again and it's programmed female voice echoed in the chamber, "Unknown signature reported. San Francisco Bay Area. Four signatures. Name Robert Parr, age 43. Name Helen Parr, age 40. Name Violet Parr, age 14. Name Dashiell Robert Parr, age 10. Location. San Francisco…"

Xavier moved his wheel chair out into the mansion. There was an important meeting to attend.

* * *

"The Russians have taken Municberg." Mirage reported, "However we've got the front stabilized. We can't guarantee how long it will stay that way."

"We have two fronts on this war," Syndrome said, "We have to deal with _spetsnaz_ infiltrators and paratroopers behind the lines. The most problematic of which are the threat behind the lines. It appears I underestimated the Soviet special operations forces."

"We could send one of the Shock Divisions to the rear to get rid of the _spetsnaz _and paratroopers." Mirage began, "But…"

"Do it. The _spetsnaz _are the greater threat. Mobile and relatively small yet heavily armed and highly trained groups behind our lines are disrupting everything else." Syndrome began.

"But then that will leave second and third rate troops to face the main Soviet Armies driving steadily into Metroville." Mirage said, "A war of attrition against the Soviets is a war we can't win. We do need the Shock Divisions to act as a mobile assault force to counter any Soviet breaks in the line."

"The second and third rate divisions should be able to hold long enough for the Shock Divisions to destroy the _spetsnaz _formations." Syndrome shouted.

"We'll need all the numbers we can get then." Mirage said, "If your plan is to work."

"Then sends some of the newer recruits, anyone with at least two weeks of military training to the front line." Syndrome replied.

"That should be enough to hold the line." Mirage began, "But the losses…"

"There is such thing as acceptable losses, Mirage." Syndrome began.

"You taught me that." Mirage remarked bitterly, "Especially when taking a life is as easy as breaking a toothpick."

"You survived, didn't you? I had everything under control." Syndrome replied.

"It's a bad risk." Mirage began. "Taking the Shock Troops out of our defense line to deal with the paratroopers and _spetsnaz_ formations is a big gamble. Metroville's citizens are unhappy enough with the imposition of martial law."

"Send some of the troops returning from the front line and the convalescents to be the enforcers of martial law." Syndrome replied.

Mirage nodded and walked to a nearby telephone and called one of the military commanders, "Send all recruits with enlistment dates later than two weeks ago to the front line…"

* * *

Dan Rydinger stood under the blazing summer sun over the Oldenborough Training Station. He stood in formation with the other recruits of his training battalion, his helmet atop his head, his rifle slung on one shoulder, his battle rattle5 worn on his back and shoulders.

An officer, a major, stood before the unit. "Your training days are over." The major began, "They're ways may have seemed harsh to you, but you will thank your fine instructors for the lessons they taught you. You are soldiers now. Soldiers in service of Almighty God, Syndrome, and Metroville."

"Right face!" An NCO commanded.

As one the entire battalion turned right. "Forward march!" The NCO barked.

"Left. Left. Left." The cadence echoed across the courtyard as the soldiers marched out of the front gate. Behind the ranks of the soldiers followed several eager young boys of Metroville, swinging their arms and kicking out their legs in awkward, exaggerated imitations of marching troops.

"Forward march." Another NCO ordered three ragged ranks of civilians ready to be trained at Oldenborough to face the Soviets.

Dan and his entire company stood in line, as they waited to be transported by several five ton trucks toward the front-line. Nearby stretcher bearers carried casualties in various states of injury towards the Oldenborough Memorial Hospital.

Dan and his colleagues watched as wounded soldiers, crippled, blind, legless, armless and even insane were led towards the complex. Groans and cries echoed from the vehicles. A soldier, maybe nineteen at the oldest, the top of his head swathed in bandages, and his left eye covered with blood splotched gauze stared his semi-Oedipal stare at the ranks of soon to be soldiers heading to the front. His left arm was missing to the elbow, and his uniform bore scorch marks, unmistakable signs of fire damage.

A pair of stretcher bearers walked by, and Dan could smell the stench of gangrene and the copper scent of blood. The patient's eyes were intact and open, but glazed over, his breathing labored, a rattling in the inhaling. Bandages swathed his midsection, his left arm bound to his torso.

Dan Rydinger boarded one of the trucks with his platoon, the smell of sweat mixing with that of blood, vomit, and the stench of death. The 8th Infantry Division, his unit, was heading for the front line near a place called Dyson City, nestled in the foothills of the Arkalay Mountain range.

* * *

END: To be continued in the X-men Evolution Section in the fic: _Meet the Incredibles_…

1 The father of Althea, a.k.a. Wavedancer, a sailor with G.I. Joe whom the Misfits belong to. A major troublemaker.

2 See _The Coming of the Foe, _in the X-men Evolution section. Chapters Seven and Thirteen are most evident of it.

3 The name of the mutant mentioned in the news earlier, who got beaten up by a gang of FOH thugs.

4 See _The Coming of the Foe. _

5 Soldier's combat gear.


End file.
